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h-^L. 


Go,  little  Book!  thyself  present. 

As  child  whose  parent  is  unkent, 

To  him  that  is  the  President 

Of  Nobleness  and  Chivalry: 

And  if  that  Envy  bark  at  thee. 

As  sure  it  will,  for  succour  flee 

Under  the  shadow  of  his  wing. 

And,  asked  who  thee  forth  did  bring, 

A  shepheard's  swain,  say,  did  thee  sing, 

All  as  his  straying  flock  he  fed: 

And,  when  his  Honour  has  thee  read, 

Crave  pardon  for  thy  hardyhed. 

But,  if  that  any  ask  thy  name. 

Say,  thou  wert  base-begot  with  blame; 

Forthy  thereof  thou  takest  shame. 

And,  when  thou  art  past  jeopardy. 

Come  tell  me  what  was  said  of  me. 

And  I  will  send  more  after  thee. 


ivi.'5752iO 


\Ssmj^ 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  EPISTLE       ix 

THE  GENERAL  ARGUMENT xix 

JANUARIE.     i^gloga  Prima i 

FEBRUARIE.     iEgloga  Secunda 7 

MARCH,     i^igloga  Tertia 17 

APRIL,     i^gloga  Quarta 23 

MAY.     iEgloga  Quinta 31 

JUNE.     iEgloga  Sexta 43 

JULY,     i^gloga  Septima 51 

AUGUST.     iEgloga  Ocflava 61 

SEPTEMBER,     i^gloga  Nona 71 

OCTOBER.     iCgloga  Decima 81 

NOVEMBER,     ^gloga  Undecima 89 

DECEMBER,     i^gloga  Duodecima 99 

EPILOGUE 107 

NOTES 109 

GLOSSARY 113 


<SJ 


<^ 


TO   THE   MOST   EXCELLENT   AND    LEARNED 

BOTH      ORATOR     AND      POET, 

MAISTER     GABRIEL     HARVEY, 

His  very  special  and  singular  good  friend  E.  K. 
commendeth  the  good  liking  of  this  his  good 
labour,  and  the  patronage  of  the  new  Poet. 

Uncouth,  unkiss'd,  said  the  old  famous  poet 
Chaucer:  whom  for  his  excellency  and  won- 
derful skill  in  making,  his  scholar  Lidgate,  a 
worthy  scholar  of  so  excellent  a  maister,calleth 
the  loadstar  of  our  language:  and  whom  our 
Colin  Clout  in  his  ^glogue,  calleth  Tityrus 
the  god  of  shepheards,  comparing  him  to  the 
worthiness  of  the  Roman  Tityrus,  Virgil. 
Which  proverb,  mine  own  good  friend  M. 
Harvey,  as  in  that  good  old  poet  it  served  well 
Pandar's  purpose  for  the  bolstering  of  his 
bawdy  brocage,  so  very  well  taketh  place  in 
this  our  new  Poet,  who  for  that  he  is  uncouth 
(as  said  Chaucer)  is  unkiss'd,  and  unknown  to 
most  men,  is  regarded  but  of  a  few.  But  1 
doubt  not,  so  soon  as  his  name  shall  come  into 
the  knowledge  of  men,  and  his  worthiness  be 
sounded  in  the  trump  of  Fame,  but  that  he 
shall  be  not  only  kiss'd,  but  also  beloved  of  all, 
embraced  of  the  most,  andwonder'd  at  of  the 
best.    No  less,  I  think,  deserveth  his  wittiness 


in  devising,  his  pithiness  in  uttering,  his  com- 
plaints of  love  so  lovely,  his  discourses  of 
pleasure  so  pleasantly,  his  pastoral  rudeness, 
his  moral  wiseness,  his  due  observing  of  de- 
corum everywhere,  in  personages,  in  seasons, 
in  matter,  in  speech ;  and  generally,  in  all 
seemly  simplicity  of  handling  his  matters,  and 
framing  his  words  :  the  which  of  many  things 
which  in  him  be  strange,  I  know  will  seem 
the  strangest,  and  words  themselves  being  so 
ancient,  the  knitting  of  them  so  short  and  in- 
tricate, and  the  whole  period  and  compass  of 
speech  so  delightsome  for  the  roundness,  and 
so  grave  for  the  strangeness.  And  first  of  the 
words  to  speak,  I  grant  they  be  something 
hard,  and  of  most  men  unused,  yet  both 
English,  and  also  used  of  most  excellent 
authors,  and  most  famous  poets.  In  whom, 
when  as  this  our  Poet  hath  been  much  tra- 
vailed and  throughly  read,  how  could  it  be, 
(as  that  worthy  orator  said)  but  that  walking 
in  the  sun,  although  for  other  cause  he  walked, 
yet  needs  he  must  be  sunburnt ;  and,  having 
the  sound  of  those  ancient  poets  still  ringing 
in  his  ears,  he  must  needs,  in  singing,  hit  out 
some  of  their  tunes.  But  whether  he  useth 
them  by  such  casualty  and  custom,  or  of  set 
purpose  and  choice,  as  thinking  them  fittest 
for  such  rustical  rudeness  of  shepheards,  either 
for  that  their  rough  sound  would  make  his 
rhymes  more  ragged  and  rustical ;    or  else 


]&SjQJ^ 


* 


\ 


because  such  old  and  obsolete  words  are  most 
used  of  country  folk,  sure  I  think,  and  think  I 
think  not  amiss,  that  they  bring  great  grace, 
and,  as  one  would  say,  authority  to  the  verse. 
For  albe,  amongst  many  other  faults,  it 
specially  be  objecfted  of  Valla  against  Livy, 
and  of  other  against  Sallust,  that  with  over 
much  study  they  affedl  antiquity,  as  covering 
thereby  credence  and  honour  of  elder  years  ; 
yet  I  am  of  opinion,  and  eke  the  best  learned 
are  of  the  like,  that  those  ancient  solemn 
words  are  a  great  ornament,  both  in  the  one, 
and  in  the  other:  the  one  labouring  to  set 
forth  in  his  work  an  eternal  image  of  antiquity, 
and  the  other  carefully  discoursing  matters  of 
gravity  and  importance.  For,  if  my  memory 
fail  not,  Tully  in  that  book,  wherein  he  en- 
deavoureth  to  set  forth  the  pattern  of  a  perfe(5l 
orator,  saith  that  ofttimes  an  ancient  word 
maketh  the  style  seem  grave,  and  as  it  were 
reverend,  no  otherwise  than  we  honour  and 
reverence  gray  hairs  for  a  certain  religious 
regard,  which  we  have  of  old  age.  Yet  neither 
everywhere  must  old  words  be  stuffed  in,  nor 
the  common  dialecft  and  manner  of  speaking 
so  corrupted  thereby,  that,  as  in  old  buildings, 
it  seem  disorderly  and  ruinous.  But  all  as  in 
most  exquisite  picftures  they  use  to  blaze  and 
pourtray  not  only  the  dainty  lineaments  of 
beauty,  but  also  round  about  it  to  shadow  the 
rude  thickets  and  craggy  clifts,  that,  by  the 


baseness  of  such  parts,  more  excellency  may 
accrue  to  the  principal :  for  oftentimes  we  find 
ourselves,  I  know  not  how,  singularly  delighted 
with  the  shew  of  such  natural  rudeness,  and 
take  great  pleasure  in  that  disorderly  order. 
Even  so  do  those  rough  and  harsh  terms 
enlumine,  and  make  more  clearly  to  appear, 
the  brightness  of  brave  and  glorious  wojds. 
So  oftentimes  a  discord  in  music  maketh  a 
comely  concordance :  so  great  delight  took 
the  worthy  poet  Alceus  to  behold  a  blemish  in 
the  joint  of  a  well-shaped  body.  But,  if  any 
will  rashly  blame  such  his  purpose  in  choice 
of  old  and  unwonted  words,  him  may  I  more 
justly  blame  and  condemn,  or  of  witless  headi- 
ness  in  judging,  or  of  heedless  hardiness  in 
condemning :  for,  not  marking  the  compass  of 
his  bent,  he  will  judge  of  the  length  of  his 
cast:  for  in  my  opinion  it  is  one  especial  praise 
of  many,  which  are  due  to  this  Poet,  that  he 
hath  laboured  to  restore,  as  to  their  rightful 
heritage, such  goodand  natural  English  words, 
as  have  been  long  time  out  of  use,  and  almost 
clean  disherited.  Which  is  the  only  cause, 
that  our  mother  tongue,  which  truly  of  itself 
is  both  full  enough  for  prose,  and  stately 
enough  for  verse,  hath  long  time  been  counted 
most  bare  and  barren  of  both.  Which  default 
when  as  someendeavoured  tosalveand  recure, 
they  patched  up  the  holes  with  pieces  and 
rags  of  other  languages,  borrowing  here  of  the 


r 


French,  there  of  the  Italian,  every  where  of 
the  Latin  ;  not  weighing  how  ill  those  tongues 
accord  with  themselves,  but  much  worse  with 
ours :  So  now  they  have  made  our  English 
tongue  a  gallimaufrey,  or  hodgepodge  of  all 
other  speeches.  Other  some  not  so  well  seen 
in  the  English  tongue,  as  perhaps  in  other 
languages,  if  they  happen  to  hear  an  old  word, 
albeit  very  natural  and  significant,  cry  out 
straightway,  that  we  speak  no  English,  but 
gibberish,  or  rather  such  as  in  old  time 
^  Evander's  mother  spake :  whose  first  shame 
is,  that  they  are  not  ashamed,  in  their  own 
mother  tongue,  to  be  counted  strangers  and 
aliens.  The  second  shame  no  less  than  the 
first,  that  what  so  they  understand  not,  they 
straightway  deem  to  be  senseless,  and  not  at 
all  to  be  understood.  Much  like  to  the  mole 
in  ^sop's  fable,  that,  being  blind  herself, 
would  in  no  wise  be  persuaded  that  any  beast 
could  see.  The  last,  more  shameful  than  both, 
that  of  their  own  country  and  natural  speech, 
which  together  with  their  nurse's  milk  they 
sucked,  they  have  so  base  regard  and  bastard 
judgment,  that  they  will  not  only  themselves 
not  labour  to  garnish  and  beautify  it,  but  also 
repine,  that  of  other  it  should  be  embellished. 
Like  to  the  dog  in  the  manger,  that  himself 
can  eat  no  hay,  and  yet  barketh  at  the  hungry 
bullock,  that  so  fain  would  feed :  whose  currish 
kind,  though  it  cannot  be  kept  from  barking. 


_n- 


r^ 


yet  I  conne  them  thank  that  they  refrain  from 
biting. 

Now,  for  the  knitting  of  sentences,  which 
they  call  the  joints  and  members  thereof,  and 
for  all  the  compass  of  the  speech,  it  is  round 
without  roughness,  and  learned  without  hard- 
ness, such  indeed  as  may  be  perceived  of  the 
least,  understood  of  the  most,  but  judged  only 
of  the  learned.  For  what  in  most  English 
writers  useth  to  be  loose,  and  as  it  were 
unright,  in  this  Author  is  well  grounded,  finely 
framed,  and  strongly  trussed  up  together.  In 
regard  whereof,  I  scorn  and  spue  out  the 
rakehelly  rout  of  our  ragged  rhymers  (for  so 
themselves  use  to  hunt  the  letter)  which 
without  learning  boast,  without  judgment 
jangle,  without  reason  rage  and  foam,  as  if 
some  instincfl  of  poetical  spirit  had  newly 
ravished  them  above  the  meanness  of  common 
capacity.  And  being,  in  the  midst  of  all  their 
bravery,  suddenly,  either  for  want  of  matter, 
or  rhyme ;  or  having  forgotten  their  former 
conceit ;  they  seem  to  be  so  pained  and  tra- 
vailed in  their  remembrance,  as  it  were  a 
woman  in  childbirth,  or  as  that  same  Pythia, 
when  the  trance  came  upon  her.  "  Os  rabidum 
fera  cor  da  domans,''  etc. 

Nathless,  let  them  a  God's  name  feed  on 
their  own  folly,  so  they  seek  not  to  darken  the 
beams  of  others'  glory.  As  for  Colin,  under 
whose  person  the  Author's  self  is  shadowed, 


how  far  he  is  from  such  vaunted  titles  and 
glorious  shews,  both  himself  sheweth,  where 
he  saith : 


•'  Of  Muses,  Hobbin,  I  conne  no  skill." 


And, 

"  Enough  is  me  to  paint  out  my  unrest,"  etc. 

And  also  appeareth  by  the  baseness  of  the 
name,  wherein  it  seemeth  he  chose  rather  to 
unfold  great  matter  of  argument  covertly  than, 
professing  it,  not  suffice  thereto  accordingly. 
Which  moved  him  rather  in  ^glogues  than 
otherwise  to  write,  doubting  perhaps  his 
ability,  which  he  little  needed,  or  minding  to 
furnish  our  tongue  with  this  kind,  wherein  it 
faulteth  ;  or  following  the  example  of  the  best 
and  most  ancient  poets,  which  devised  this 
kind  of  writing,  being  both  so  base  for  the 
matter,  and  homely  for  the  manner,  at  the  first 
to  try  their  abilities ;  and  as  young  birds,  that 
be  newly  crept  out  of  the  nest,  by  little  first 
prove  their  tender  wings,  before  they  make  a 
greater  flight.  So  flew  Theocritus,  as  you 
may  perceive  he  was  already  full  fledged.  So 
flew  Virgil,  as  not  yet  well  feeling  his  wings. 
So  flew  Mantuane,  as  not  being  full  somm'd. 
So  Petrarch.  So  Boccace.  So  Marot,  Sana- 
zarius,  and  also  divers  other  excellent  both 
Italian  and  French  poets,  whose  footing  this 
author  every  where  followeth  :  yet  so  as  few, 


[^ 


but  they  be  well  scented,  can  trace  him  out. 
So  finally  flieth  this  our  new  Poet  as  a  bird 
whose  principals  be  scarce  grown  out,  but  yet 
as  one  that  in  time  shall  be  able  to  keep  wing 
with  the  best.  Now,  as  touching  the  general 
drift  and  purpose  of  his  ^glogues,  I  mind  not 
to  say  much,  himself  labouring  to  conceal  it. 
Only  this  appeareth,  that  his  unstayed  youth 
had  long  wander'd  in  the  common  labyrinth 
of  love,  in  which  time  to  mitigate  and  allay 
the  heat  of  his  passion,  or  else  to  warn  (as  he 
saith)  the  young  shepheards,  his  equals  and 
companions,  of  his  unfortunate  folly,  he  com- 
piled these  twelve  JEglogues^  which,  for  that 
they  be  proportioned  to  the  state  of  the  twelve 
monethes,  he  termeth  it  the  Shepheard's  Calender, 
applying  an  old  name  to  a  new  work.  Here- 
unto have  I  added  a  certain  gloss,  or  scholion, 
for  the  exposition  of  old  words  and  harder 
phrases ;  which  manner  of  glossing  and  com- 
menting, well  I  wot,  will  seem  strange  and 
rare  in  our  tongue  :  yet,  for  so  much  as  I  knew 
many  excellent  and  proper  devices,  both  in 
words  and  matter,  would  pass  in  the  speedy 
course  of  reading  either  as  unknown,  or  as  not 
marked ;  and  that  in  this  kind,  as  in  other,  we 
might  be  equal  to  the  learned  of  other  nations  ; 
I  thought  good  to  take  the  pains  upon  me,  the 
rather  for  that  by  means  of  some  familiar  ac- 
quaintance I  was  made  privy  to  his  counsel 
and  secret  meaning  in  them,  as  also  in  sundry 


other  works  of  his.  Which  albeit  I  know  he 
nothing  so  much  hateth,  as  to  promulgate, 
yet  thus  much  have  I  adventured  upon  his 
friendship,  himself  being  for  long  time  far 
estranged;  hoping  that  this  will  the  rather 
occasion  him  to  put  forthdiversother excellent 
works  of  his,  which  sleep  in  silence ;  as  his 
Dreams,  his  Legends,  his  Court  of  Cupid,  and  sun- 
dry others,  whose  commendation  to  set  out 
were  very  vain,  the  things  though  worthy  of 
many,  yet  being  known  to  few.  These  my 
present  pains,  if  to  any  they  be  pleasurable  or 
profitable,  be  you  judge,  mine  own  Maister 
Harvey,  to  whom  I  have  both  in  respecft  of 
your  worthiness  generally,  and  otherwise 
upon  some  particular  and  special  considera- 
tions, vowed  this  my  labour,  and  the  maiden- 
head of  this  our  common  friend's  poetry; 
himself  having  already  in  the  beginning  dedi- 
cated it  to  the  noble  and  worthy  gentleman, 
the  right  worshipful  Maister  Philip  Sidney,  a 
special  favourer  and  maintainer  of  all  kind  of 
learning.  Whose  cause,  I  pray  you,  sir,  if 
envy  shall  stir  up  any  wrongful  accusation, 
defend  with  your  mighty  rhetoric  and  other 
your  rathe  gifts  of  learning,  as  you  can,  and 
shield  with  your  good  will,  as  you  ought, 
against  the  malice  and  outrage  of  so  many 
enemies,  as  I  know  will  be  set  on  fire  with  the 
sparks  of  his  kindled  glory.  And  thus  recom- 
mending the  Author  unto  you,  as  unto   his 


most  special  good  friend,  and  myself  unto 
you  both,  as  one  making  singular  account  of 
two  so  very  good  and  so  choice  friends,  I  bid 
you  both  most  heartily  farewell,  and  commit 
you  and  your  commendable  studies  to  the 
tuition  of  the  Greatest. 

Your  own  assuredly  to  be  commanded, 

E.   K/ 

P.S. — Now  I  trust,  M.  Harvey,  that  upon  sight  ^^ 
of  your  special  friend's  and  fellow  poet's 
doings,  or  else  for  envy  of  so  many  unworthy 
Quidams,  which  catch  at  the  garland  which 
to  you  alone  is  due,  you  will  be  persuaded  to 
pluck  out  of  the  hateful  darkness  those  so 
many  excellent  English  poems  of  yours  which 
lie  hid,  and  bring  them  forth  to  eternal  light. 
Trust  me,  you  do  both  them  great  wrong,  in 
depriving  them  of  the  desired  sun ;  and  also 
yourselfjin  smothering  your  deserved  praises ; 
and  all  men  generally,  in  withholding  from 
them  so  divine  pleasures,  which  they  might 
conceive  of  your  gallant  English  verses,  as 
they  have  already  done  of  your  Latin  poems, 
which,  in  my  opinion,  both  for  invention  and 
elocution  are  very  delicate  and  super-excellent. 
And  thus  again  I  take  my  leave  of  my  good 
M.  Harvey.  From  my  lodging  at  London  this 
tenth  of  April  1579. 


THE 

GENERAL   ARGUMENT   OF 

THE   WHOLE   BOOK. 

Little,  I  hope,  needeth  me  at  large  to  discourse 
the  first  original  of  ^glogues,  having  already 
touched  the  same.  But,  forthe  word^Eglogues 
I  know  is  unknown  to  most,  and  also  mistaken 
of  some  of  the  best  learned,  (as  they  think,) 
I  will  say  somewhat  thereof,  being  not  at  all 
impertinent  to  my  present  purpose. 

They  were  first  of  the  Greeks,  the  inventors 
of  them,  called  Acglogai^  as  it  zucrc  Aegon,  or 
Acgitiomon  logi,  that  is,  Goatherds'  tales.  For 
although  in  Virgil  and  others  the  speakers 
be  more  shepheards  than  goatherds,  yet  Theo- 
critus, in  whom  is  more  ground  of  authority 
than  in  Virgil,  this  specially  from  that  deriv- 
ing, as  from  the  first  head  and  wellspring,  the 
whole  invention  of  these  iEglogues  maketh 
goatherds  the  persons  and  authors  of  his  tales. 
This  being,  who  seeth  not  the  grossness  of 
such  as  by  colour  of  learning  would  make  us 
believe,  that  they  are  more  rightly  termed 
Ec/ogai,  as  they  would  say,  extraordinary  dis- 
courses of  unnecessary  matter:  which  defini- 
tion albe  in  substance  and  meaning  it  agree 


-G- 


with  the  nature  of  the  thing,  yet  no  whit  an- 
swereth  with  the  analysis  and  interpretation 
of  the  word.  For  they  be  not  termed  Eclogues, 
hut  ^glogues ;  which  sentence  this  Author  very 
well  observing,  upon  good  judgment,  though 
indeed  few  goatherds  have  to  do  herein, 
nevertheless  doubteth  not  to  call  them  by  the 
used  and  best  known  name.  Other  curious 
discourses  hereof  I  reserve  to  greater  occa- 
sion. 

These  twelve  iEglogues,  every  where  an- 
swering to  the  seasons  of  the  twelve  monethes, 
may  be  well  divided  into  three  forms  or  ranks. 
For  either  they  be  plaintive,  as  the  first,  the 
sixth,  the  eleventh,  and  the  twelfth ;  or  re- 
creative, such  as  all  those  be,  which  contain 
matter  of  love,  or  commendation  of  special 
personages;  or  moral,  which  for  the  most 
part  be  mixed  with  some  satyrical  bitterness  ; 
namely,  the  second,  of  reverence  due  to  old 
age  ;  the  fifth,  of  coloured  deceit ;  the  seventh 
and  ninth,  of  dissolute  shepheards  and  pas- 
tors; the  tenth,  of  contempt  of  Poetry  and 
pleasant  Wits.  And  to  this  division  may  every 
thing  herein  be  reasonably  applied;  a  few 
only  except,  whose  special  purpose  and 
meaning  I  am  not  privy  to.  And  thus  much 
generally  of  these  twelve  i^glogues.  Now 
will  we  speak  particularly  of  all,  and  first  of 
the  first,  which  he  calleth  by  the  first  moneth's 
name,  Januarie :    wherein  to  some  he  may 


seem  foully  to  have  faulted,  in  that  he  errone- 
ously beginneth  with  that  moneth,  which  be- 
ginneth  not  the  year.  For  it  is  well  known, 
and  stoutly  maintained  with  strong  reasons 
of  the  learned,  that  the  year  beginneth  in 
March  ;  for  then  the  sun  reneweth  his  finished 
course,  and  the  seasonable  spring  refresheth 
the  earth,  and  the  pleasance  thereof,  being 
buried  in  the  sadness  of  the  dead  winter  now 
worn  away,  reliveth. 

This  opinion  maintain  the  old  Astrologers 
and  Philosophers,  namely,  the  reverend 
Andalo,  and  Macrobius  in  his  Holy  Days 
of  Saturn ;  which  account  also  was  generally 
observed  both  of  Grecians  and  Romans.  But, 
saving  the  leave  of  such  learned  heads,  we 
maintain  a  custom  of  counting  the  seasons 
from  themoneth  Januarie,upon  a  morespecial 
cause  than  the  heathen  Philosophers  ever 
could  conceive,  that  is,  for  the  Incarnation  of 
our  mighty  Saviour,  and  Eternal  Redeemer 
the  Lord  Christ,  who  as  then  renewing  the 
state  of  the  decayed  world,  and  returning  the 
compass  of  expired  years  to  their  former  date 
and  first  commencement,  left  to  us  his  heirs 
a  memorial  of  his  birth  in  the  end  of  the  last 
year  and  beginning  of  the  next.  Which 
reckoning,  beside  that  eternal  monument  of 
our  salvation,  leaneth  also  upon  good  proof 
of  special  judgment. 

For  albeit  that  in  elder  times,  when  as  yet 


the  count  of  the  year  was  not  perfecfted,  as 
afterward  it  was  by  Julius  Caesar,  they  began 
to  tell  the  monethes  from  March's  beginning, 
and  according  to  the  same,  God  (as  is  said  in 
Scripture)  commanded  the  people  of  the 
Jews,  to  count  the  moneth  Abib,  that  which  we 
call  March,  for  the  first  moneth,  in  remem- 
brance that  in  that  moneth  he  brought  them 
out  of  the  land  of  Egypt :  yet,  according  to 
tradition  of  latter  times  it  hath  been  otherwise 
observed,  both  in  government  of  the  Church 
and  rule  of  mightiest  realms.  For  from 
Julius  Caesar  who  first  observed  the  leap  year, 
which  he  called  Bissextilem  Annunty  and  brought 
into  a  more  certain  course  the  odd  wand'ring 
days  which  of  the  Greeks  were  called  Hyper- 
bainontesy  of  the  Romans  Intercalares,  (for  in 
such  matter  of  learning  I  am  forced  to  use 
the  terms  of  the  learned,)  the  monethes  have 
been  numbered  twelve,  which  in  the  first 
ordinance  of  Romulus  were  but  ten,  counting 
but  304  days  in  every  year,  and  beginning  with 
March.  But  Numa  Pompilius,  who  was  the 
father  of  all  the  Roman  ceremonies  and  reli- 
gion, seeing  that  reckoning  to  agree  neither 
with  the  course  of  the  sun  nor  the  moon, 
thereunto  added  two  monethes,  Januarie 
and  Februarie ;  wherein  it  seemeth,  that  wise 
king  minded  upon  good  reason  to  begin  the 
year  at  Januarie,  of  him  therefore  so  called 
tanquam  janua  anni,  the  gate  and  entrance  of 


the  year ;  or  of  the  name  of  the  god  Janus,  to 
which  god  for  that  the  old  Paynims  attributed 
the  birth  and  beginning  of  all  creatures  new 
coming  into  the  world,  it  seemeth  that  he 
therefore  to  him  assigned  the  beginning  and 
first  entrance  of  the  year.  Which  account 
for  the  most  part  hath  hitherto  continued  : 
notwithstanding  that  the  Egyptians  begin 
their  year  at  September;  for  that,  according 
to  the  opinion  of  the  best  Rabbins  and  very 
purpose  of  the  Scripture  itself,  God  made  the 
world  in  that  moneth,  that  is  called  of  them 
Tisri.  And  therefore  he  commanded  them  to 
keep  the  feast  of  Pavilions  in  the  end  of  the 
year,  in  the  xv.  day  of  the  seventh  moneth, 
which  before  that  time  was  the  first. 

But  our  author,  respec5ting  neither  the 
subtilty  of  the  one  part,  nor  the  antiquity  of 
the  other,  thinketh  it  fittest,  according  to  the 
simplicity  of  common  understanding,  to  begin 
with  Januarie  ;  weening  it  perhaps  no  eleeorum 
that  shepheards  should  be  seen  in  matter  of 
so  deep  insight,  or  canvass  a  case  of  so  doubt- 
ful judgment.  So  therefore  beginneth  he,  and 
so  continueth  he  throughout. 


xxiii 


•AeOLOGA' 


£ 


THE  SHEPHEARD'S 
CALENDER: 

JANUARIE.     i^GLOGA  PRIMA.     ARGUMENT. 

In  this  first  iEglogue  Colin  Clout,  a  shepheard's  boy, 
complaineth  himself  of  his  unfortunate  love,  being  but 
newly  (as  seemeth)  enamoured  of  a  country  lass  called 
Rosalind  :  with  which  strong  afTecTtion  being  very  sore 
travailed, he  compareth  hiscareful  case  to  the  sad  season 
of  the  year,  to  the  frosty  ground,  to  the  frozen  trees,  and 
to  his  own  winter-beaten  flock.  And  lastly,  finding 
himself  robbed  of  all  former  pleasance  and  delight,  he 
breaketh  his  pipe  in  pieces,  and  casteth  himself  to  the 
ground. 

COLIN  CLOUT. 

A  shepheard's  boy,  (no  better  do  him  call,) 

When  winter's  wasteful  spite  was  almost  spent. 

All  in  a  sunshine  day,  as  did  befall, 

Led  forth  his  flock,  that  had  been  long  ypent : 

So  faint  they  wox,  and  feeble  in  the  fold, 

That  now  unnethes  their  feet  could  them  uphold. 

All  as  the  sheep,  such  was  the  shepheard's  look. 

For  pale  and  wan  he  was,  (alas  the  while!) 

May  seem  he  lov'd,  or  else  some  care  he  took; 

Well  couth  he  tune  his  pipe  and  frame  his  style: 

Then  to  a  hill  his  fainting  flock  he  led, 

And  thus  him  plain'd,  the  while  his  sheep  there  fed : 

"  Yc  gods  of  love!  that  pity  lovers'  pain, 

(If  any  gods  the  pain  of  lovers  pity,) 

Look  from  above,  where  you  in  joys  remain, 

3 


^ 


And  bow  your  ears  unto  my  doleful  ditty. 

And,  Pan!  thou  shepheards'  god,  that  once  didst  love, 

Pity  the  pains  that  thou  thyself  didst  prove. 

"Thoubarrenground,whom  winter's  wrath  hath  wasted, 

Art  made  a  mirror  to  behold  my  plight: 

Whilome  thy  fresh  spring  flower'd,  and  after  hasted 

Thy  summer  proud,  with  daffodillies  dight; 

And  now  is  come  thy  winter's  stormy  state, 

Thy  mantle  marr'd  wherein  thou  maskedst  late. 

"Such  rage  as  winter's  reigneth  in  my  heart, 
My  life-blood  freezing  with  unkindly  cold; 
Such  stormy  stoures  do  breed  my  baleful  smart, 
As  if  my  year  were  waste  and  waxen  old ; 
And  yet,  alas!  but  now  my  spring  begun. 
And  yet,  alas!  it  is  already  done. 

"You  naked  trees,  whose  shady  leaves  are  lost, 
Wherein  the  birds  were  wont  to  build  their  bower, 
And  now  are  cloth'd  with  moss  and  hoary  frost, 
Instead  of  blossoms,  wherewith  your  buds  did  flower; 
I  see  your  tears  that  from  your  boughs  do  rain, 
Whose  drops  in  dreary  icicles  remain. 

"All  so  my  lustful  leaf  is  dry  and  sere, 
My  timely  buds  with  wailing  all  are  wasted; 
The  blossom  which  my  branch  of  youth  did  bear. 
With  breathed  sighs  is  blown  away  and  blasted; 
And  from  mine  eyes  the  drizzling  tears  descend, 
As  on  your  boughs  the  icicles  depend. 

"Thou  feeble  flock!  whose  fleece  is  rough  and  rent. 
Whose  knees  are  weak  through  fast  and  evil  fare, 
Mayst  witness  well,  by  thy  ill  government. 
Thy  master's  mind  is  overcome  with  care: 
Thou  weak,  I  wan ;  thou  lean,  I  quite  forlorn : 
With  mourning  pine  I;  you  with  pining  mourn. 


\m^j^ 


"A  thousand  siths  I  curse  that  careful  hour 
Wherein  I  long'd  the  neighbour  town  to  see. 
And  eke  ten  thousand  siths  I  bless  the  stoure 
Wherein  I  saw  so  fair  a  sight  as  she : 
Yet  all  for  naught :  such  sight  hath  bred  my  bane. 
Ah,  God!  that  love  should  breed  both  joy  and  pain  ! 

"  It  is  not  Hobbinol  ■  wherefore  I  plain,       ^  '•  ^  ■  j  ^ 

Albe  my  love  he  seek  with  daily  suit; 

His  clownish  gifts  and  court'sies  I  disdain, 

His  kids,  his  cracknels,  and  his  early  fruit. 

Ah,  foolish  Hobbinol !  thy  gifts  be  vain  ; 

Colin  them  gives  to  Rosalind  again. 

"  I  love  thilk  lass,  (alas!  why  do  I  love ?) 

And  am  forlorn,  (alas!  why  am  I  lorn?) 

She  deigns  not  my  good  will,  but  doth  reprove, 

And  of  my  rural  music  holdeth  scorn. 

Shepheard's  device  she  hateth  as  the  snake. 

And  laughs  the  songs  that  Colin  Clout  doth  make. 

"Wherefore,  my  pipe,  albe  rude  Pan  thou  please, 
Yet  for  thou  pleasest  not  where  most  I  would; 
And  thou,  unlucky  Muse,  that  wont'st  to  ease 
My  musing  mind,  yet  canst  not  when  thou  should; 
Both  Pipe  and  Muse  shall  sore  the  while  abye." 
So  broke  his  oaten  pipe,  and  down  did  lie.  ^^ 

By  that,  the  welked  Phoebus  gan  availe 

His  weary  wain ;  and  now  the  frosty  Night 

Her  mantle  black  through  heaven  gan  overhalc: 

Which  seen,  the  pensive  boy,  half  in  despite, 

Arose,  and  homeward  drove  his  sunned  sheep, 

Whose  hanging  heads  did  seem  his  careful  case  to  weep. 


COLINS  EMBLEME. 

.  I  ncord  spt'me. 

(Hope  is  my  anchor.) 


Amloga- 


FEBRUARIE. /EGLOGA  SECUNDA.  ARGUMENT. 

This  i^glogue  is  rather  moral  and  general  than  bent  to 
any  secret  or  particular  purpose.  It  specially  containeth 
a  discourse  of  old  age,  in  the  person  of  Thenot,  an  old 
shepheard,  who,  for  his  crookedness  and  unlustiness,  is 
scorned  of  Cuddie,  an  unhappy  herdman's  boy.  The 
matter  very  well  accordeth  with  the  season  of  the 
moneth,  the  year  now  drooping,  and  as  it  were  drawing 
to  his  last  age.  For  as  in  this  time  of  year,  so  then  in 
our  bodies,  there  is  a  dry  and  withering  cold,  which 
congealeth  the  curdled  blood,  and  freezeth  the  weather- 
beaten  flesh,  with  storms  of  Fortune  and  hoar-frosts  of 
Care.  To  which  purpose  the  old  man  telleth  a  tale  of 
the  Oak  and  the  Brier,  so  lively,  and  so  feelingly,  as,  if 
the  thing  were  set  forth  in  some  pi(rture  before  our  eyes, 
more  plainly  could  not  appear. 

CUDDIE.     THENOT. 


CUDDIE. 

Ah  for  pity!  will  rank  winter's  rage 

These  bitter  blasts  never  gin  t'  assuage  ? 

The  keen  cold  blows  through  my  beaten  hide. 

All  as  I  were  through  the  body  gride: 

My  ragged  ronts  all  shiver  and  shake, 

As  doen  high  towers  in  an  earthquake: 

They  wont  in  the  wind  wag  their  wriggle  tails 

Perk  as  a  peacock  ;  but  now  it  availes. 

THE.  Lewdly  complainest,  thou  lazy  lad, 

Of  winter's  wrack  for  making  thee  sad. 

Must  not  the  world  wend  in  his  common  course. 

From  good  to  bad,  and  from  bad  to  worse. 

From  worse  unto  that  is  worst  of  all, 

And  then  return  to  his  former  fall  ? 

9 


.X 


Who  will  not  suffer  the  stormy  time, 

Where  will  he  live  till  the  lusty  prime? 

Self  have  I  worn  out  thrice  thirty  years, 

Some  in  much  joy,  many  in  many  tears, 

Yet  never  complained  of  cold  nor  heat, 

Of  summer's  flame,  nor  of  winter's  threat, 

Ne  ever  was  to  Fortune  foeman, 

But  gently  took  that  ungently  came  ; 

And  ever  my  flock  was  my  chief  care  ; 

Winter  or  summer  they  might  well  fare. 

CUD.  No  marvel,  Thenot,  if  thou  can  bear 

Cheerfully  the  winter's  wrathful  cheer; 

For  age  and  winter  accord  full  nigh, 

This  chill,  that  cold;  this  crooked,  that  wry; 

And  as  the  louring  weather  looks  down. 

So  seemest  thou  like  Good  Friday  ^  to  frown : 

But  my  flow'ring  youth  is  foe  to  frost, 

My  ship  unwont  in  storms  to  be  tost. 

THE.  The  sovereign  of  seas  he  blames  in  vain. 

That,  once  sea-beat,  will  to  sea  again: 

So  loit'ring  live  you  little  herdgrooms. 

Keeping  your  beasts  in  the  budded  brooms; 

And,  when  the  shining  sun  laugheth  once. 

You  deemen,  the  spring  is  come  at  once; 

Then  gin  you,  fond  flies!  the  cold  to  scorn,  -^ 

And,  crowing  in  pipes  made  of  green  corn, 

You  thinken  to  be  lords  of  the  year; 

But  eft,  when  ye  count  you  freed  from  fear, 

Comes  the  breme  Winter  with  chamfred  brows, 

Full  of  wrinkles  and  frosty  furrows. 

Drearily  shooting  his  stormy  dart,  > 

Which  curdles  the  blood  and  pricks  the  heart: 

Then  is  your  careless  courage  accoyed, 

Your  careful  herds  with  cold  be  annoyed: 

Then  pay  you  the  price  of  your  surquedry, 

With  weeping,  and  wailing,  and  misery. 

CUD.  Ah!  foolish  old  man!  I  scorn  thy  skill, 

That  wouldst  me  my  springing  youth  to  spill : 


V'd 


f 


I  deem  thy  brain  emperished  be 
Through  rusty  eld,  that  hath  rotted  thee; 
Or  sicker  thy  head  very  totty  is, 
So  on  thy  corb  shoulder  it  leans  amiss. 
Now  thyself  hath  lost  both  lop  and  top, 
Als  my  budding  branch  thou  wouldest  crop; 
But  were  thy  years  green,  as  now  be  mine, 
To  other  delights  they  would  incline: 
Then  wouldest  thou  learn  to  carol  of  love, 
And  hery  with  hymns  thy  lass's  glove; 
Then  wouldest  thou  pipe  of  Phillis'  praise; 
But  Phillis  is  mine  for  many  days; 
I  won  her  with  a  girdle  of  gelt, 
Embost  with  bugle  about  the  belt: 
Such  an  one  shepheards  would  make  full  fain  ; 
Such  an  one  would  make  thee  young  again. 
THE.  Thou  art  a  fon,  of  thy  love  to  boast; 
All  that  is  lent  to  love  will  be  lost.  v^'^ 

CUD.  Seest  how  bragyond  bullock  bears, 
So  smirk,  so  smooth,  his  pricked  ears?" 
His  horns  be  as  broad  as  rainbow  bent, 
His  dewlap  as  lithe  as  lass  of  Kent: 
See  how  he  venteth  into  the  wind; 
Weenest  of  love  is  not  his  mind? 
Seemeth  thy  flock  thy  counsel  can, 
So  lustless  be  they,  so  weak,  so  wan ; 
Clothed  with  cold,  and  hoary  with  frost, 
Thy  flock's  father  his  courage  hath  lost. 
Thy  ewes,  that  wont  to  have  blowen  bags, 
Like  wailful  widows  hangen  their  crags; 
The  rather  lambs  be  starved  with  cold, 
All  for  their  master  is  lustless  and  old. 
THE.  Cuddie,  I  wot  thou  kenst  little  good, 
So  vainly  to  advance  thy  heedlesshood; 
For  youth  is  a  bubble  blown  up  with  breath. 
Whose  wit  is  weakness,  whose  wage  is  death. 
Whose  way  is  wilderness,  whose  inn  penance, 
And  stoop-gallant  Age,  the  host  of  Grievance. 


!;?=*». 


;^> 


But  shall  I  tell  thee  a  tale  of  truth, 

Which  I  cond  of  Tityrus  in  my  youth, 

Keeping  his  sheep  on  the  hills  of  Kent  ? 

CUD.  To  nought  more,  Thenot,  my  mind  is  bent 

Than  to  hear  novels  of  his  devise; 

They  be  so  ^vell  thew^ed,  and  so  wise. 

Whatever  that  good  old  man  bespake. 

THE.  Many  meet  tales  of  youth  did  he  make, 

And  some  of  love,  and  some  of  chivalry; 

But  none  fitter  than  this  to  apply. 

Now  listen  a  while  and  hearken  the  end. 

' '  There  grew  an  aged  tree  on  the  green, 
A  goodly  Oak  sometime  had  it  been. 
With  arms  full  strong  and  largely  display'd, 
But  of  their  leaves  they  were  disarray'd: 
The  body  big,  and  mightily  pight. 
Throughly  rooted,  and  of  wondrous  height ; 
Whilome  had  been  the  king  of  the  field. 
And  mochell  mast  to  the  husband  did  yield, 
And  with  his  nuts  larded  many  swine : 
But  now  the  gray  moss  marred  his  rine ; 
His  bared  boughs  were  beaten  with  storms, 
His  top  was  bald,  and  wasted  with  worms, 
His  honour  decayed,  his  branches  sere. 

"  Hard  by  his  side  grew  a  bragging  Brere, 
Which  proudly  thrust  into  th'  element. 
And  seemed  to  threat  the  firmament: 
It  was  embellish'd  with  blossoms  fair. 
And  thereto  aye  wonted  to  repair 
The  shepheards'  daughters  to  gather  flowers,' 
To  paint  their  garlands  with  his  colours; 
And  in  his  small  bushes  used  to  shroud 
The  sweet  nightingale  singing  so  loud; 
Which  made  this  foolish  Brere  wax  so  bold, 
That  on  a  time  he  cast  him  to  scold 
And  snebbe  the  good  Oak,  for  he  was  old. 

'"Why  standst  there  (quoth  he)  thou  brutish  blocfe? 
Nor  for  fruit  nor  for  shadow  serves  thy  stock; 


Seest  how  fresh  my  flowers  be  spread, 
Dyed  in  lily  white  and  crimson  red, 
With  leaves  engrained  in  lusty  green ; 
Colours  meet  to  clothe  a  maiden  queen? 
Thy  waste  bigness  but  cumbers  the  ground. 
And  dirks  the  beauty  of  my  blossoms  round: 
The  mouldy  moss,  which  thee  accloyeth, 
My  cinnamon  smell  too  much  annoyeth: 
Wherefore  soon  I  rede  thee  hence  remove, 
Lest  thou  the  price  of  my  displeasure  prove.' 
So  spake  this  bold  Brere  with  great  disdain: 
Little  him  answered  the  Oak  again, 
But  yielded,  with  shame  and  grief  adawed. 
That  of  a  weed  he  was  overcrawed. 

"It  chanced  after  upon  a  day, 
The  husbandman  self  to  come  that  way. 
Of  custom  for  to  surview  his  ground, 
And  his  trees  of  state  in  compass  round: 
Him  when  the  spiteful  Brere  had  espied, 
Causeless  complained,  and  loudly  cried 
Unto  his  lord,  stirring  up  stern  strife: 

" '  O  my  liege  lord!  the  god  of  my  life, 
Pleaseth  you  ponderyour  suppliant's  plaint, 
Caused  of  wrong  and  cruel  constraint. 
Which  I  your  poor  vassal  daily  endure ; 
And,  but  your  goodness  the  same  recure, 
Am  like  for  desperate  dool  to  die, 
Through  felonous  force  of  mine  enemy.' 

"Greatly  aghast  with  this  piteous  plea, 
Him  rested  the  goodman  on  the  lea, 
And  bade  the  Brere  in  his  plaint  proceed. 
With  painted  words  then  gan  this  proud  weed 
(As  most  usen  ambitious  folk) 
His  coloured  crime  with  craft  to  cloak. 

"'  Ah,  my  sovereign!  lord  of  creatures  all, 
Thou  placer  of  plants  both  humble  and  tall, 
Wa^  not  I  planted  of  thine  own  hand, 
To  be  the  primrose  of  all  thy  land; 

13 


} 


With  flow'ring  blossoms  to  furnish  the  prime, 

And  scarlet  berries  in  summer  time  ? 

How  falls  it  then  that  this  faded  Oak, 

Whose  body  is  sere,  whose  branches  broke, 

Whose  naked  arms  stretch  unto  the  fire. 

Unto  such  tyranny  doth  aspire; 

Hindering  with  his  shade  my  lovely  light, 

And  robbing  me  of  the  sweet  sun's  sight  ? 

So  beat  his  old  boughs  my  tender  side, 

That  oft  the  blood  springeth  from  woundes  wide; 

Untimely  my  flowers  forced  to  fall, 

That  be  the  honour  of  your  coronal: 

And  oft  he  lets  his  canker-worms  light 

Upon  my  branches,  to  work  me  more  spite ; 

And  oft  his  hoary  locks  down  doth  cast. 

Wherewith  my  fresh  flow'rets  be  defast : 

For  this,  and  many  more  such  outrage. 

Craving  your  goodlyhead  to  assuage 

The  rancorous  rigour  of  his  might; 

Nought  ask  I,  but  only  to  hold  my  right; 

Submitting  me  to  your  good  sufferance. 

And  praying  to  be  guarded  from  grievance.' 

"To  this  this  Oak  cast  him  to  reply 
Well  as  he  couth ;  but  his  enemy 
Had  kindled  such  coals  of  displeasure. 
That  the  goodman  nould  stay  his  leisure, 
But  home  him  hasted  with  furious  heat, 
Increasing  his  wrath  with  many  a  threat: 
His  harmful  hatchet  he  hent  in  hand, 
(Alas!  that  it  so  ready  should  stand!) 
And  to  the  field  alone  he  speedeth, 
(Aye  little  help  to  harm  there  needeth!) 
Anger  nould  let  him  speak  to  the  tree, 
Enaunter  his  rage  might  cooled  be  ; 
But  to  the  root  bent  his  sturdy  stroke. 
And  made  many  wounds  in  the  waste  Oak. 
The  axe's  edge  did  oft  turn  again, 
As  half  unwilling  to  cut  the  grain ; 

14 


c 


Seemed,  the  senseless  iron  did  fear,       , 

Or  to  wrong  holy  eld  did  forbear;    ,   ,/ 

For  it  had  been  an  ancient  tree, 

Sacred  with  many  a  mystery, 

And  often  cross'd  with  the  priests'  crew, 

And  often  hallowed  with  holy-water  dew; 

But  sike  fancies  weren  foolery. 

And  broughten  this  Oak  to  this  misery; 

For  nought  might  they  quitten  him  from  decay, 

For  fiercely  the  goodman  at  him  did  lay. 

The  block  oft  groaned  under  the  blow, 

And  sighed  to  see  his  near  overthrow. 

In  fine,  the  steel  had  pierced  his  pith. 

Then  down  to  the  earth  he  fell  forthwith. 

His  wondrous  weight  made  the  ground  to  quake, 

Th'  earth  shrunk  under  him,  and  seemed  to  shake; 

There  lieth  the  Oak,  pitied  of  none! 

"  Now  stands  the  Brere  like  a  lord  alone. 
Puffed  up  with  pride  and  vain  pleasance; 
But  all  this  glee  had  no  continuance: 
For  eftsoons  winter  gan  to  approach; 
The  blust'ring  Boreas  did  encroach, 
And  beat  upon  the  solitary  Brere; 
For  now  no  succour  was  seen  him  near. 
Now  gan  he  repent  his  pride  too  late; 
For,  naked  left  and  disconsolate. 
The  biting  frost  nipt  his  stalk  dead. 
The  watry  wet  weighed  do\vn  his  head, 
And  heaped  snow  burden'd  him  so  sore. 
That  now  upright  he  can  stand  no  more; 
And,  being  down,  is  trod  in  the  durt 
Of  cattle,  and  broused,  and  sorely  hurt. 
Such  was  th'  end  of  this  ambitious  Brere, 
For  scorning  eld — " 

CUD.  Now  I  pray  thee,  shepheard,  tell  it  not  forth; 
Here  is  a  long  tale,  and  little  worth. 
So  long  have  I  listened  to  thy  speech. 
That  graffed  to  the  ground  is  my  breech; 


^ 


My  heartblood  is  well  nigh  frorne  I  feel, 

And  my  galage  grown  fast  to  my  heel; 

But  little  ease  of  thy  lewd  tale  I  tasted: 

Hie  thee  home,  shepheard,  the  day  is  nigh  wasted. 

THENOT'S  EMBLEME.* 

Iddio,  perche  e  vecchzo, 
Fa  suoi  al  suo  essempio. 

CUDDIE'S  EMBLEMED 

Niuno  vecchio 
Spaventa  Jddio. 


i6 


•MARCH- 

•YeRtiX- 


MARCH.     iEGLOGA  TERTIA.     ARGUMENT. 

In  thisiEglogue  two  Shepheards'  Boys,  taking  occasion 
of  the  season,  begin  to  make  purpose  of  love,  and  other 
pleasance  which  to  springtime  is  most  agreeable.  The 
special  meaning  hereof  is,  to  give  certain  marks  and 
tokens,  to  know  Cupid  the  poets'  god  of  Love.  But 
more  particularly,  I  think,  in  the  person  of  Thomalin, 
is  meant  some  secret  friend,  who  scorned  Love  and  his 
knights  so  long,  till  at  length  himself  was  entangled, 
and  unwares  wounded  with  the  dart  of  some  beautiful 
regard,  which  is  Cupid's  arrow. 

WILLY.     THOMALIN. 


:?^ 


WILLY 

Thomalin,  why  sitten  we  so. 

As  weren  overwent  with  woe, 

Upon  so  fair  a  morrow? 
The  joyous  time  now  nigheth  fast, 
That  shall  alegge  this  bitter  blast. 

And  slake  the  winter  sorrow. 
THO.  Sicker,  Willy,  thou  warnest  well; 
For  winter's  wrath  begins  to  quell. 

And  pleasant  spring  appeareth : 
The  grass  now  gins  to  be  refresht. 
The  swallow  peeps  out  of  her  nest, 

And  cloudy  welkin  cleareth. 
WIL.  Seest  not  thilk  same  hawthorn  stud, 
How  bragly  it  begins  to  bud. 

And  utter  his  tender  head? 
Flora  now  calleth  forth  each  flower. 
And  bids  make  ready  Maia's  bower 

That  new  is  uprist  from  bed: 
Then  shall  we  sporten  in  delight, 

19 


And  learn  with  Lettice  to  wax  light, 

That  scornfully  looks  askance; 
Then  will  we  little  Love  awake, 
That  now  sleepeth  in  Lethe  lake. 

And  pray  him  leaden  our  dance. 
THO.  Willy,  I  ween  thou  be  asset; 
For  lusty  Love  still  sleepeth  not, 

But  is  abroad  at  his  game. 
WIL.  How  kenst  thou  that  he  is  awoke  ? 
Or  hast  thyself  his  slumber  broke  ? 

Or  made  privy  to  the  same  ? 
THO.  No;  but  happily  I  him  spied, 
Where  in  a  bush  he  did  him  hide, 

With  wings  of  purple  and  blue; 
And,  were  not  that  my  sheep  would  stray. 
The  privy  marks  I  would  bewray, 

Whereby  by  chance  I  him  knew. 
WIL.  Thomalin,  have  no  care  forthy; 
Myself  will  have  a  double  eye, 

Alike  to  my  flock  and  thine; 
For,  alas !  at  home  I  have  a  sire, 
A  stepdame  eke,  as  hot  as  fire, 

That  duly  adays  counts  mine. 
THO.  Nay,  but  thy  seeing  will  not  serve. 
My  sheep  for  that  may  chance  to  swerve, 

And  fall  into  some  mischief: 
For  sithens  is  but  the  third  morrow 
That  I  chanc'd  to  fall  asleep  with  sorrow, 

And  waked  again  with  grief; 
The  while  thilk  same  unhappy  ewe. 
Whose  clouted  leg  her  hurt  doth  shew, 

Fell  headlong  into  a  dell. 
And  there  unjointed  both  her  bones: 
Might  her  neck  been  jointed  attones. 

She  should  have  need  no  more  spell; 
Th' elf  was  so  wanton  and  so  wood, 
(But  now  I  trow  can  better  good,) 

She  might  ne  gang  on  the  green. 


y^ 


WIL.  Let  be,  as  may  be,  that  is  past ; 
That  is  to  come,  let  be  forecast : 

Now  tell  us  what  thou  hast  seen. 
THO.  It  was  upon  a  holiday, 
When  shepheards'  grooms  have  leave  to  play, 

I  cast  to  go  a  shooting; 
Long  wand'ring  up  and  down  the  land. 
With  bow  and  bolts  in  either  hand, 

For  birds  in  bushes  tooting, 
At  length  within  the  ivy  tod, 
(There  shrouded  was  the  little  god,) 

I  heard  a  busy  bustling; 
I  bent  my  bolt  against  the  bush, 
List'ning  if  any  thing  did  rush, 

But  then  heard  no  more  rustling. 
Then,  peeping  close  into  the  thick. 
Might  see  the  moving  of  some  quick. 

Whose  shape  appeared  not; 
But  were  it  faery,  fiend,  or  snake. 
My  courage  yearn'd  it  to  awake. 

And  manfully  thereat  shot: 
With  that  sprang  forth  a  naked  swain ; 
With  spotted  wings  like  peacock's  train, 

And  laughing  lope  to  a  tree ; 
His  gilden  quiver  at  his  back, 
And  silver  bow,  which  was  but  slack. 

Which  lightly  he  bent  at  me : 
That  seeing,  I  levell'd  again, 
And  shot  at  him  with  might  and  main, 


As  thick  as  it  had  hailed. 
So  long  I  shot,  that  all  was  spent; 
Then  pumie  stones  I  hast'ly  hent. 

And  threw;  but  nought  availed  : 
He  was  so  wimble  and  so  wight. 
From  bough  to  bough  he  leaped  light. 

And  oft  the  pumies  latched: 
Therewith  afraid  I  ran  away; 
But  he,  that  erst  seem'd  but  to  play, 


# 


/ 


h 


A  shaft  in  earnest  snatched, 
And  hit  me  running  in  the  heel: 
For  then  I  little  smart  did  feel, 

But  soon  it  sore  increased; 
And  now  it  rankleth  more  and  more, 
And  inwardly  it  fest'reth  sore, 

Ne  wote  I  how  to  cease  it. 
WIL.  Thomalin,  I  pity  thy  plight, 
Perdie  with  Love  thou  didest  fight ; 

I  know  him  by  a  token : 
For  once  I  heard  my  father  say, 
How  he  him  caught  upon  a  day, 

(Whereof  he  will  be  wroken,)' 
Entangled  in  a  fowling  net. 
Which  he  for  carrion  crows  had  set 

That  in  our  pear-tree  haunted: 
Then  said,  he  was  a  winged  lad, 
But  bow  and  shafts  as  then  none  had, 

Else  had  he  sore  been  daunted. 
But  see,  the  welkin  thicks  apace. 
And  stooping  Phoebus  steeps  his  face; 

It's  time  to  haste  us  homeward. 

WILLY'S  EMBLEME. 

To  be  wise  and  eke  to  love. 
Is  granted  scarce  to  gods  abone. 

THOMALIN'S  EMBLEME. 

Of  honey  and  of  gall  in  love  there  is  store; 
The  honey  is  much,  but  the  gall  is  more. 


(>««»vi**»i ; 


^ 


,..•«. 


APRIL.     iEGLOGA  QUARTA.     ARGUMENT. 

This  iEglogue  is  purposely  intended  to  the  honour  and 
praise  of  our  most  gracious  sovereign,  Queen  Elizabeth. 
The  speakers  hereof  be  Hobbinol  and  Thenot,  two 
shepheards:  the  which  Hobbinol, beingbeforementioned 
greatly  to  have  loved  Colin,  is  here  set  forth  more  largely, 
complaining  him  of  that  boy's  great  misadventure  in 
love  ;  whereby  his  mind  was  alienated  and  withdrawn 
not  only  from  him,  who  most  loved  him,  but  also  from 
all  former  delights  and  studies,  as  well  in  pleasant 
piping,  as  cunning  rhyming  and  singing,  and  other  his 
laudable  exercises.  Whereby  he  taketh  occasion,  for 
proof  of  his  more  excellency  and  skill  in  poetry,  to 
record  a  song,  which  the  said  Colin  sometime  made  in 
honour  of  her  Majesty,  whom  abruptly  he  termeth  Elisa. 

THENOT.     HOBBINOL. 

THENOT. 

Tell  me,  good  Hobbinol,  what  gars  thee  greet? 

What !  hath  some  wolf  thy  tender  lambs  ytorn  ? 
Or  is  thy  bagpipe  broke,  that  sounds  so  sweet? 

Or  art  thou  of  thy  loved  lass  forlorn  ? 
Or  be  thine  eyes  attemper'd  to  the  year. 

Quenching  the  gasping  furrows'  thirst  with  rain  ? 
Like  April  shower,  so  stream  the  trickling  tears 

Adown  thy  cheek,  to  quench  thy  thirsty  pain. 
HOB.  Nor  this,  nor  that,  so  much  doth  make  me  mourn. 

But  for  the  lad.  whom  long  I  lov'd  so  dear, 
Now  loves  a  lass  that  all  his  love  doth  scorn : 

He,  plunged  in  pain,  his  tressed  locks  doth  tear; 
Shepheard's  delights  he  doth  them  all  forswear; 

His  pleasant  pipe,  which  made  us  merriment, 
He  wilfully  hath  broke,  and  doth  forbear 


His  wonted  songs  wherein  he  all  outwent. 
THE.  What  is  he  for  a  lad  you  so  lament? 

Is  love  such  pinching  pain  to  them  that  prove  ? 
And  hath  he  skill  to  make  so  excellent, 

Yet  hath  so  little  skill  to  bridle  love  ? 
HOB.  Colin  thou  kenst,  the  southern  shepheard's  boy; 

Him  Love  hath  wounded  with  a  deadly  dart: 
Whilome  on  him  was  all  my  care  and  joy, 

Forcing  with  gifts  to  win  his  wanton  heart. 
But  now  from  me  his  madding  mind  is  start, 

And  wooes  the  widow's  daughter  of  the  glen ; 
So  now  fair  Rosalind  hath  bred  his  smart; 

So  now  his  friend  is  changed  for  a  frenne. 
THE.  But  if  his  ditties  be  so  trimly  dight, 

I  pray  thee,  Hobbinol,  record  some  one, 
The  whiles  our  flocks  do  graze  about  in  sight, 

And  we  close  shrouded  in  this  shade  alone. 
HOB.  Contented  I :  then  will  I  sing  his  lay 

Of  fair  Elisa,  queen  of  shepheards  all, 
Which  once  he  made  as  by  a  spring  he  lay, 

And  tuned  it  unto  the  waters'  fall. 

"Ye  dainty  Nymphs,  that  in  this  blessed  brook 

Do  bathe  your  breast, 
Forsake  your  watry  bowers,  and  hither  look. 

At  my  request. 
And  eke  you  virgins,  that  on  Parnass  dwell, 
Whence  floweth  Helicon,  the  learned  well. 

Help  me  to  blaze 

Her  worthy  praise. 
Which  in  her  sex  doth  all  excel. 


' '  Of  fair  Elisa  be  your  silver  song, 

That  blessed  wight. 
The  flower  of  virgins;  may  she  flourish  long 

In  princely  plight! 
For  she  is  Syrinx'  daughter  without  spot. 
Which  Pan,  the  shepheards'  god,  of  her  begot; 

36 


£ 


So  sprung  her  grace 
Of  heavenly  race, 
No  mortal  blemish  may  her  blot. 

"See,  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassy  green, 

(O  seemly  sight!) 
Yclad  in  scarlet,  like  a  maiden  queen, 

And  ermines  white: 
Upon  her  head  a  crimson  coronet, 
With  damask  roses  and  daffadillies  set; 

Bay  leaves  between, 

And  primroses  green, 
Embellish  the  sweet  violet. 

"Tell  me,  have  ye  seen  her  angelic  face, 

Like  Phoebe  fair? 
Her  heavenly  haveour,  her  princely  grace. 

Can  you  well  compare? 
The  red  rose  medled  with  the  white  yfere, 
In  either  cheek  depeincften  lively  cheer: 

Her  modest  eye, 

Her  majesty, 
Where  have  you  seen  the  like  but  there  ? 

"I  saw  Phoebus  thrust  out  his  golden  head, 

Upon  her  to  gaze; 
But,  when  he  saw  how  broad  her  beams  did  spread, 

It  did  him  amaze. 
He  blush'd  to  see  another  sun  below, 
Ne  durst  again  his  fiery  face  out  show. 

Let  him,  if  he  dare. 

His  brightness  compare 
With  hers,  to  have  the  overthrow. 

"  Shew  thyself,  Cynthia,  with  thy  silver  rays, 

And  be  not  abash'd: 
When  she  the  beams  of  her  beauty  displays, 

O  how  art  thou  dash'd! 


:^=^ 


But  I  will  not  match  her  with  Latona's  seed; 
Such  folly  great  sorrow  to  Niobe  did  breed. 

And  she  is  a  stone, 

And  makes  daily  moan, 
Warning  all  other  to  take  heed. 

"Pan  may  be  proud  that  ever  he  begot 

Such  abellibone; 
And  Syrinx  rejoice,  that  ever  was  her  lot 

To  bear  such  an  one. 
Soon  as  my  younglings  crying  for  the  dam, 
To  her  will  I  offer  a  milkwhite  lamb; 

She  is  my  goddess  plain, 

And  I  her  shepheard's  swain, 
Albe  forswonk  and  forswat  I  am. 

"I  see  Calliope  speed  her  to  the  place, 

Where  my  goddess  shines; 
And  after  her  the  other  Muses  trace, 

With  their  violins. 
Be  they  not  bay-branches  which  they  do  bear. 
All  for  Elisa  in  her  hand  to  wear? 

So  sweetly  they  play. 

And  sing  all  the  way. 
That  it  a  heaven  is  to  hear. 


"  Lo,  how  finely  the  Graces  can  it  foot 

To  the  instrument : 
They  dancen  deftly,  and  singen  soote. 

In  their  merriment. 
Wants  not  a  fourth  Grace,  to  make  the  dance  even  ? 
Let  that  room  to  my  Lady  be  yeven 

She  shall  be  a  Grace, 

To  fill  the  fourth  place. 
And  reign  with  the  rest  in  heaven. 

"And  whither  runs  this  bevy  of  ladies  bright, 
Ranged  in  a  row  ? 

28 


£ 


They  be  all  Ladies  of  the  Lake  behight, 

That  unto  her  go. 
Chloris,  that  is  the  chiefest  nymph  of  all, 
Of  olive  branches  bears  a  cdronal: 

Olives  be  for  peace, 

When  wars  do  surcease: 
Such  for  a  princess  be  principal. 

"Ye  shepheards'  daughters,  that  dwell  on  the  green, 

Hie  you  there  apace: 
Let  none  come  there  but  that  virgins  bene,  / 

To  adorn  her  grace:  ^^^i, 

And,  when  you  come  whereas  she  is  in  place, 
See  that  your  rudeness  do  not  you  disgrace:       .   ,, 

Bind  your  fillets  fast,  ^'t^^yt^f<^^ 

And  gird  in  your  waist,  \/  gj^  r 

For  more  fineness,  with  a  tawdry '  lace.        *^    '   J^ ti 

"  Bring  hither  the  pink  and  purple  columbine,   v^,  ^^ 


With  gelliflowers; 
Bring  coronations,  and  sops-in-wine, 

Worn  of  paramours: 
Strow  me  the  ground  with  daffadowndillies, 
And  cowslips,  and  kingcups,  and  loved  lillies; 

The  pretty  paunce. 

And  the  chevisance. 
Shall  match  with  the  fair  flower  delice. 


■.<^^ 


If 


"  Now  rise  up,  Elisa,  decked  as  thou  art 

In  royal  array; 
And  now  ye  damty  damsels  may  depart 

Each  one  her  way. 
I  fear  I  have  troubled  your  troops  too  long; 
Let  Dame  Elisa  thank  you  for  her  song: 

And,  if  you  come  hither 

When  damsines  I  gather, 
I  will  part  them  all  you  among." 

29 


]li 


THE.  And  was  thilk  same  song  of  Colin's  own  making? 

Ah!  foolish  boy!  that  is  with  love  yblent; 
Great  pity  is,  he  be  in  such  taking, 

For  naught  caren  that  be  so  lewdly  bent. 
HOB.  Sicker  I  hold  him  for  a  greater  fon. 

That  loves  the  thing  he  cannot  purchase. 
But  let  us  homeward,  for  night  draweth  on, 

And  twinkling  stars  the  daylight  hence  chase. 

THENOT'S  EMBLEME.* 

O  qjmm  et  memorem  virgo  ! 

HOBBINOL'S  EMBLEME. 

O  Dea  certe  I 


30 


■X6GLOGA: 

'<XllNTA- 


^^ri^^^^i^^ 


MAY.     i^GLOGA  QUINTA.     ARGUMENT. 

In  this  fifth  iEglogue,  under  the  person  of  two  shep- 
heards,  Piers  and  Palinode, be  represented  two  forms  of 
Pastors  or  Ministers,  or  the  Protestant  and  the  Catholic; 
whose  chief  talk  standeth  in  reasoning,  whether  the  life 
of  the  one  must  be  like  the  other;  with  whom  having 
shewed,  that  it  is  dangerous  to  maintain  any  fellowship, 
or  give  too  much  credit  to  their  colourable  and  feigned 
good-will,  he  telleth  him  a  tale  of  the  Fox,  that,  by  such 
a  counterpoint  of  craftiness,  deceived  and  devoured  the 
credulous  Kid. 


s«     PALINODE.     PIERS. 

PALINODE. 

Is  not  thilk  the  merry  month  of  May, 

When  love-lads  masken  in  fresh  array? 

How  falls  it,  then,  we  no  merrier  bene, 

Alike  as  others,  girt  in  gaudy  green? 

Our  bloncket  liveries  be  all  too  sad 

For  thilk  same  season,  when  all  is  yclad 

With  pleasance;  the  ground  with  grass,  the  woods 

With  green  leaves,  the  bushes  with  blooming  buds. 

Youth's  folk  now  flocken  in  every  where. 

To  gather  May-buskets  and  smelling  brere; 

And  home  they  hasten  the  posts  to  dight, 

And  all  the  kirk-pillars  ere  day-light, 

With  hawthorn  buds,  and  sweet  eglantine, 

And  garlands  of  roses,  and  sops-in-wine. 

Such  merrimake  holy  saints  doth  queme. 

But  we  here  sitten  as  drown'd  in  dream. 

PIERS.  For  younkers,  Palinode,  such  follies  fit, 

But  we  tway  be  men  of  elder  wit. 

PAL.  Sicker  this  morrow,  no  longer  ago, 

I  saw  a  shoal  of shepheards  outgo 

With  singing,  and  shouting,  and  jolly  cheer: 

33 


Before  them  yode  a  lusty  tabrere, 

That  to  the  many  a  horn-pipe  play'd, 

Whereto  they  dancen  each  one  with  his  maid. 

To  see  those  folks  make  such  jovisance, 

Made  my  heart  after  the  pipe  to  dance: 

Then  to  the  green  wood  they  speeden  them  all, 

To  fetchen  home  May  with  their  musical; 

And  home  they  bringen  in  a  royal  throne, 

Crowned  as  king;  and  his  queen  attone 

Was  Lady  Flora,  on  whom  did  attend 

A  fair  flock  of  faeries,  and  a  fresh  bend 

Of  lovely  nymphs.   (O  that  I  were  there, 

To  helpen  the  ladies  their  Maybush  bear!) 

Ah !  Piers,  be  not  thy  teeth  on  edge,  to  think 

How  great  sport  they  gainen  with  little  swink? 

PIERS.  Perdie,  so  far  am  I  from  envy, 

That  their  fondness  inly  I  pity: 

Those  faitours  little  regarden  their  charge. 

While  they,  letting  their  sheep  run  at  large, 

Passen  their  time,  that  should  be  sparely  spent, 

In  lustihed  and  wanton  merriment. 

Thilk  same  be  shepheards  for  the  devil's  stead, 

That  playen  while  their  flocks  be  unfed: 

Well  it  is  seen  their  sheep  be  not  their  own, 

That  letten  them  run  at  random  alone :         i^r 

But  they  be  hired  for  little  pay 

Of  other,  that  caren  as  little  as  they, 

What  fallen  the  flock,  so  they  have  the  fleece, 

And  get  all  the  gain,  paying  but  a  piece. 

I  muse,  what  account  both  these  will  make; 

The  one  for  the  hire,  which  he  doth  take. 

And  th'  other  for  leaving  his  Lord's  task, 

When  great  Pan  account  of  shepheards  shall  ask. 

PAL.  Sicker,  now  I  see  thou  speakest  of  spite. 

All  for  thou  lackest  somdele  their  delight. 

I  (as  I  am)  had  rather  be  envied. 

All  were  it  of  my  foe,  than  fonly  pitied; 

And  yet,  if  need  were,  pitied  would  be. 


y 


r  fk 


^ 


Rather  than  other  should  scorn  at  me ; 

For  pitied  is  mishap  that  n'as  remedy, 

But  scorned  be  deeds  of  fond  foolery. 

What  shoulden  shepheards  other  things  tend, 

Than,  sith  their  God  his  good  does  them  send, 

Reapen  the  fruit  thereof,  that  is  pleasure. 

The  while  they  here  liven  at  ease  and  leisure? 

For,  when  they  be  dead,  their  good  is  ygoe, 

They  sleepen  in  rest,  well  as  other  moe: 

Then  with  them  wends  what  they  spent  in  cost, 

But  what  they  left  behind  them  is  lost. 

Good  is  no  good,  but  if  it  be  spend; 

God  giveth  good  for  none  other  end. 

PIERS.  Ah!  Palinode,  thou  art  a  world's  child: 

Who  touches  pitch,  must  needs  be  defil'd; 

But  shepheards  (as  Algrind "  used  to  say) 

Must  not  live  alike  as  men  of  the  lay. 

With  them  it  sits  to  care  for  their  heir, 

Enaunter  their  heritage  do  impair: 

They  must  provide  for  means  of  maintenance, 

And  to  continue  their  wont  countenance: 

But  shepheard  must  walk  another  way, 

Sike  worldly  sovenance  he  must  for-say. 

The  son  of  his  loins  why  should  he  regard 

To  leave  enriched  with  that  he  hath  spar'd  ? 

Should  not  thilk  God,  that  gave  him  that  good. 

Eke  cherish  his  child,  if  in  his  ways  he  stood? 

For  if  he  mislive  in  lewdness  and  lust. 

Little  boots  all  the  wealth,  and  the  trust, 

That  his  father  left  by  inheritance  ; 

All  will  be  soon  wasted  with  misgovernance: 

But  through  this,  and  other  their  miscreance, 

They  maken  many  a  wrong  chevisance. 

Heaping  up  waves  of  wealth  and  woe. 

The  floods  whereof  shall  them  overflow. 

Sike  men's  folly  I  cannot  compare 

Better  than  to  the  ape's  foolish  care. 

That  is  so  enamoured  of  her  young  one, 

15 


(And  yet,  God  wot,  such  cause  had  she  none,) 
That  with  her  hard  hold,  and  strait  embracing, 
She  stoppeth  the  breath  of  her  youngling. 
So  oftentimes,  whenas  good  is  meant, 
Evil  ensueth  of  wrong  intent. 

The  time  was  once,  and  may  again  retorn, 
(For  ought  may  happen,  that  hath  been  beforn,) 
When  shepheards  had  none  inheritance, 
Ne  of  land  nor  fee  in  sufferance, 
But  what  might  arise  of  the  bare  sheep, 
("Were  it  more  or  less)  which  they  did  keep. 
Well  y wis  was  it  with  shepheards  then : 
Nought  having,  nought  feared  they  to  forego; 
For  Pan  himself  was  their  inheritance. 
And  little  them  served  for  their  maintenance. 
The  shepheards'  God  so  well  them  guided, 
That  of  nought  they  were  unprovided; 
Butter  enough,  honey,  milk,  and  whey, 
And  their  flocks'  fleeces  them  to  array: 
But  tracft  of  time,  and  long  prosperity, 
(That  nurse  of  vice,  this  of  insolency,)  ■ 
Lulled  the  shepheards  in  such  security, 
That,  not  content  with  loyal  obeisance. 
Some  gan  to  gape  for  greedy  governance. 
And  match  them  self  with  mighty  potentates, 
Lovers  of  lordship,  and  troublers  of  states  : 
Then  gan  shepheards'  swains  to  look  aloft. 
And  leave  to  live  hard,  and  learn  to  ligg  soft: 
Then,  under  colour  of  shepheards,  somewhile 
There  crept  in  wolves,  full  of  fraud  and  guile. 
That  often  devoured  their  own  sheep, 
And  often  the  shepheards  that  did  them  keep  : 
This  was  the  first  source  of  shepheards'  sorrow, 
That  now  nill  be  quit  with  bail  nor  borrow. 
PAL.  Three  things  to  bear  be  very  burdenous, 
But  the  fourth  to  forbear  is  outrageous: 
Women,  that  of  love's  longing  once  lust, 
Hardly  forbearen,  but  have  it  they  must: 

36 


So  when  choler  is  inflamed  with  rage, 
Wanting  revenge,  is  hard  to  assuage: 
And  who  can  counsel  a  thirsty  soul, 
With  patience  to  forbear  the  offer'd  bowl? 
But  of  all  burdens,  that  a  man  can  bear, 
Most  is,  a  fool's  talk  to  bear  and  to  hear.      «-" 
I  ween  the  giant  has  not  such  a  weight, 
That  bears  on  his  shoulders  the  heaven's  height. 
Thou  findest  fault  where  n'is  to  be  found, 
And  buildest  strong  work  upon  a  weak  ground :       ' 
Thou  railest  on  right  withouten  reason, 
And  blamest  them  much  for  small  encheason. 
How  shoulden  shepheards  live,  if  not  so  ? 
What?  should  they  pinen  in  pain  and  woe? 
Nay,  say  I  thereto,  by  my  dear  borrow, 
If  I  may  rest,  I  nill  live  in  sorrow. 
Sorrow  ne  need  be  hastened  on, 
For  he  will  come,  without  calling,  anon, 
While  times  enduren  of  tranquillity, 
Usen  we  freely  our  felicity; 
For,  when  approachen  the  stormy  stowres. 
We  must  with  our  shoulders  bear  off  the  sharp  showers; 
And,  sooth  to  sayn,  nought  seemeth  sike  strife. 
That  shepheards  so  witen  each  other's  life, 
And  layen  their  faults  the  worlds  beforn. 
The  while  their  foes  do  each  of  them  scorn. 
Let  none  mislike  of  that  may  not  be  mended; 
So  contest  soon  by  concord  might  be  ended. 
PIERS.  Shepheard,  I  list  no  accordance  make 
With  shepheard,  that  does  the  right  way  forsake; 
And  of  the  twain,  if  choice  were  to  me, 
Had  lever  my  foe  than  my  friend  he  be ; 
For  what  concord  have  light  and  dark  sam? 
Or  what  peace  has  the  lion  with  the  lamb? 
Such  faitours,  when  their  false  hearts  be  hid, 
Will  do  as  did  the  Fox  by  the  Kid.-* 
PAL.   Now,  Piers,  of  fellowship,  tell  us  that  saying; 
For  the  lad  can  keep  both  our  flocks  from  straying. 

37 


i 


li 


PIERS.  Thilk  same  Kid  (as  I  can  well  devise) 
Was  too  very  foolish  and  unwise ; 
For  on  a  time,  in  summer  season, 
The  Goat  her  dam,  that  had  good  reason, 
Yode  forth  abroad  unto  the  green  wood. 
To  brouze,  or  play,  or  what  she  thought  good: 
But,  for  she  had  a  motherly  care 
Of  her  young  son,  and  wit  to  beware. 
She  set  her  youngling  before  her  knee, 
That  was  both  fresh  and  lovely  to  see, 
And  full  of  favour  as  kid  might  be. 
His  velvet  head  began  to  shoot  out. 
And  his  wreathed  horns  gan  newly  sprout; 
The  blossoms  of  lust  to  bud  did  begin, 
And  spring  forth  rankly  under  his  chin. 
"My  son,"  (quoth  she,  and  with  that  gan  weep; 
For  careful  thoughts  in  her  heart  did  creep;) 
"  God  bless  thee,  poor  orphan !  as  he  might  me, 
And  send  thee  joy  of  thy  jollity. 
Thy  father,"  (that  word  she  spake  with  pain, 
For  a  sigh  had  nigh  rent  her  heart  in  twain,) 
"Thy  father,  had  he  lived  this  day. 
To  see  the  branch  of  his  body  display. 
How  would  he  have  joyed  at  this  sweet  sight  ? 
But  ah!  false  Fortune  such  joy  did  him  spite, 
And  cut  off  his  days  with  untimely  woe. 
Betraying  him  into  the  trains  of  his  foe. 
Now  I,  a  wailful  widow  behight, 
Of  my  old  age  have  this  one  delight, 
To  see  thee  succeed  in  thy  father's  stead. 
And  flourish  in  flowers  of  lustihead ;  f^^ 

For  even  so  thy  father  his  head  upheld. 
And  so  his  haughty  horns  did  he  weld." 
Then  marking  him  with  melting  eyes, 
A  thrilling  throb  from  her  heart  did  arise, 
And  interrupted  all  her  other  speech 
With  some  old  sorrow  that  made  a  new  breach; 
Seemed  she  saw  in  her  youngling's  face 

38 


\ 


:'r 


The  old  lineaments  of  his  father's  grace. 

At  last  her  sullen  silence  she  broke. 

And  gan  his  new-budded  beard  to  stroke. 

"Kiddie,"  (quoth  she,)  "thou  kenst  the  great  care 

I  have  of  thy  health  and  thy  welfare, 

Which  many  wild  beasts  liggen  in  wait 

For  to  entrap  in  thy  tender  state : 

But  most  the  Fox,  master  of  collusion; 

For  he  has  vowed  thy  last  confusion. 

Forthy,  my  Kiddie,  be  rul'd  by  me, 

And  never  give  trust  to  his  treachery; 

And,  if  he  chance  come  when  I  am  abroad, 

Sperr  the  gate  fast,  for  fear  of  fraud; 

Ne  for  all  his  worst,  nor  for  his  best. 

Open  the  door  at  his  request." 

So  schooled  the  Goat  her  wanton  son. 
That  answer'd  his  mother,  all  should  be  done. 
Then  went  the  pensive  dam  out  of  door. 
And  chanc'd  to  stumble  at  the  threshold  floor; 
Her  stumbling  step  somewhat  her  amazed, 
(For  such,  as  signs  of  ill  luck,  be  dispraised;) 
Yet  forth  she  yode,  thereat  half  aghast; 
And  Kiddie  the  door  sperred  after  her  fast. 
It  was  not  long,  after  she  was  gone, 
But  the  false  Fox  came  to  the  door  anone  ; 
Not  as  a  fox,  for  then  he  had  be  kend, 
But  all  as  a  poor  pedlar  he  did  wend, 
Bearing  a  truss  of  trifles  at  his  back. 
As  bells,  and  babes,  and  glasses,  in  his  pack: 
A  biggen  he  had  got  about  his  brain, 
For  in  his  headpiece  he  felt  a  sore  pain: 
His  hinder  heel  was  wrapt  in  a  clout. 
For  with  great  cold  he  had  got  the  gout : 
There  at  the  door  he  cast  me  down  his  pack. 
And  laid  him  down,  and  groaned,  "Alack!  alack! 
Ah!  dear  Lord!  and  sweet  Saint  Charity! 
That  some  good  body  would  once  pity  me!" 

Well  heard  Kiddie  all  this  sore  constraint, 

39 


And  long'd  to  know  the  cause  of  his  complaint; 
Then,  creeping  close  behind  the  wicket's  clink, 
Privily  he  peeped  out  through  a  chink, 
Yet  not  so  privily  but  the  Fox  him  spied; 
For  deceitful  meaning  is  double-eyed. 

"Ah!  good  young  master,"  (then  gan  he  cry,) 
"Jesus  bless  that  sweet  face  I  espy. 
And  keep  your  corpse  from  the  careful  stounds 
That  in  my  carrion  carcase  abounds." 

The  Kid,  pitying  his  heaviness, 
Asked  the  cause  of  his  great  distress, 
And  also  who,  and  whence  that  he  were. 

Then  he,  that  had  well  yconn'd  his  lere, 
Thus  medled  his  talk  with  many  a  tear: 
"  Sick,  sick,  alas !  and  little  lack  of  dead. 
But  I  be  relieved  by  your  beastlyhead. 
I  am  a  poor  sheep,  albe  my  colour  dun, 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  brent  in  the  sun ; 
And  if  that,  my  grandsire  me  said,  be  true, 
Sicker,  I  am  very  sib  to  you ; 
So  be  your  goodlihead  do  not  disdain 
The  base  kindred  of  so  simple  swain. 
Of  mercy  and  favour  then  I  you  pray. 
With  your  aid  to  forestall  my  near  decay." 

Then  out  of  his  pack  a  glass  he  took. 
Wherein  while  Kiddie  unwares  did  look. 
He  was  so  enamoured  with  the  newell. 
That  nought  he  deemed  dear  for  the  jewel : 
Then  opened  he  the  door,  and  in  came 
The  false  Fox,  as  he  were  stark  lame: 
His  tail  he  clapt  betwixt  his  legs  twain, 
Lest  he  should  be  descried  by  his  train. 

Being  within,  the  Kid  made  him  good  glee, 
All  for  the  love  of  the  glass  he  did  see. 
After  his  cheer,  the  pedlar  gan  chat. 
And  tell  many  leasings  of  this  and  that. 
And  how  he  could  shew  many  a  fine  knack; 
Then  shewed  his  ware  and  opened  his  pack. 


!^@JL_ 


All  save  a  bell,  which  he  left  behind 

In  the  basket  for  the  Kid  to  find ; 

Which  when  the  Kid  stooped  down  to  catch, 

He  popt  him  in,  and  his  basket  did  latch ; 

Ne  stayed  he  once  the  door  to  make  fast, 

But  ran  away  with  him  in  all  hast. 

Home  when  the  doubtful  dame  had  her  hied, 
She  might  see  the  door  stand  open  wide ; 
All  aghast,  loudly  she  gan  to  call 
Her  Kid;  but  he  nould  answer  at  all: 
Then  on  the  floor  she  saw  the  merchandice 
Of  which  her  son  had  set  too  dear  a  price. 
What  help!  her  Kid  she  knew  well  was  gone: 
She  weeped,  and  wailed,  and  made  great  moan. 
Such  end  had  the  Kid,  for  he  nould  warned  be 
Of  craft,  coloured  with  simplicity; 
And  such  end,  perdie,  does  all  them  remain, 
That  of  such  falsers'  friendship  be  fain. 
PAL.  Truly,  Piers,  thou  art  beside  thy  wit,  J ,,-  *- 
Furthest  fro  the  mark,  weening  it  to  hit. 
Now,  I  pray  thee,  let  me  thy  tale  borrow 
For  our  Sir  John,'  to  say  to-morrow 
At  the  kirk  when  it  is  holiday; 
For  well  he  means,  but  little  can  say. 
But,  and  if  foxes  be  so  crafty  as  so, 
Much  needeth  all  shepheards  them  to  know. 
PIERS.  Of  their  falsehood  more  could  I  recount, 
But  now  the  bright  sun  ginneth  to  dismount; 
And,  for  the  dewy  night  now  doth  nigh, 
I  hold  it  best  for  us  home  to  hie. 

PALINODE'S  EMBLEME. 

(Every  one  without  faith  is  suspicious.) 

PIERS,  HIS  EMBLEME. 

Tic  c'ctpa  irlariq  (ivKTru)  ', 

(What  faith,  then,' in  the  faithless?) 


lUNe- 

■MQl°GK 

■sextA- 


£ 


JUNE.     i^GLOGA  SEXTA.     ARGUMENT. 

This  iEglogue  is  wholly  vowed  to  the  complaining  of 
Colin's  ill  success  in  his  love.  For  being  (as  is  aforesaid) 
enamoured  of  a  country  lass  Rosalind,  and  having  (as 
seemeth)  found  place  in  her  heart,  he  lamenteth  to  his 
dear  friend  Hobbinol,  that  he  is  now  forsaken  unfaith- 
fully, and  in  his  stead  Menalcas,  another  shepheard, 
received  disloyally.  And  this  is  the  whole  Argument 
of  this  iEglogue. 

HOBBINOL.    COLIN  CLOUT. 

HOBBINOL. 

Lo!  Colin,  here  the  place  whose  pleasant  site 
From  other  shades  hath  wean'd  my  wand'ring  mind, 
Tell  me,  what  wants  me  here  to  work  delight? 
The  simple  air,  the  gentle  warbling  wind, 
So  calm,  so  cool,  as  nowhere  else  I  find; 
The  grassy  ground  with  dainty  daisies  dight, 
The  bramble  bush,  where  birds  of  every  kind 
To  the  waters'  fall  their  tunes  attemper  right. 

COL.  O  happy  Hobbinol,  I  bless  thy  state, 
That  Paradise  hast  found  which  Adam  lost: 
Here  wander  may  thy  flock  early  or  late, 
Withouten  dread  of  wolves  to  be  ytost; 
Thy  lovely  lays  here  mayst  thou  freely  boast: 
But  I,  unhappy  man!  whom  cruel  Fate 
And  angry  gods  pursue  from  coast  to  coast. 
Can  nowhere  find  to  shroud  my  luckless  pate. 

HOB.  Then,  if  by  me  thou  list  advised  be, 
Forsake  the  soil  that  so  doth  thee  bewitch;        ';::kL_. 
Leave  me  those  hills  were  harbrough  n'is  to  sec,  *fi';f(nr 

45 


?=»^ 


Nor  holly-bush,  nor  briar,  nor  winding  ditch ; 
And  to  the  dales  resort,  where  shepheards  rich, 
And  fruitful  flocks,  be  every  where  to  see : 
Here  no  night-ravens  lodge,  more  black  than  pitch. 
Nor  elvish  ghosts,  nor  ghastly  owls  do  flee ; 

But  friendly  Faeries,  met  with  many  Graces, 
And  lightfoot  Nymphs,  can  chase  the  ling'ring  Night 
With  heydeguys,  and  trimly  trodden  traces. 
Whilst  Sisters  Nine,  which  dwell  on  Parnass  height, 
Do  make  them  music  for  their  more  delight;  ^ 

And  Pan  himself  to  kiss  their  crystal  faces  a^-^  ' 

Will  pipe  and  dance,  when  Phoebe  shineth  bright: 
Such  peerless  pleasures  have  we  in  these  places. 

COL.  And  I,  whilst  youth,  and  courseof  careless  years. 

Did  let  me  walk  withouten  links  of  love. 

In  such  delights  did  joy  amongst  my  peers ; 

But  riper  age  such  pleasures  doth  reprove : 

My  fancy  eke  from  former  follies  move 

To  stayed  steps;  for  time  in  passing  wears, 

(As  garments  do,  which  waxen  old  above,) 

And  draweth  new  delights  with  hoary  hairs. 


Then  couth  I  sing  of  love,  and  tune  my  pipe 
Unto  my  plaintive  pleas  in  verses  made; 
Then  would  I  seek  for  queen-apples  unripe; 
To  give  my  Rosalind,  and  in  summer  shade 
Dight  gaudy  garlands  was  my  common  trade, 
To  crown  her  golden  locks ;  but  years  more  ripe. 
And  loss  of  her,  whose  love  as  life  I  weigh'd, 
Those  weary  wanton  toys  away  did  wipe. 

HOB.  Colin,  to  hear  thy  rhymes  and  roundelays, 
Which  thou  wert  wont  on  wasteful  hills  to  sing, 
I  more  delight  than  lark  in  summer  days, 
Whose  echo  made  the  neighbour  groves  to  ring, 

46 


J 


naagg^ 


LT£. 


And  taught  the  birds,  which  in  the  lower  spring 
Did  shroud  in  shady  leaves  from  sunny  rays, 
Frame  to  thy  song  their  cheerful  chirruping, 
Or  hold  their  peace,  for  shame  of  thy  sweet  lays. 


I  saw  Calliope  with  Muses  moe, 

Soon  as  thy  oaten  pipe  began  to  sound. 

Their  ivory  lutes  and  tambourins  forgo, 

And  from  the  fountain,  v/here  they  sat  around, 

Run  after  hastily  thy  silver  sound ; 

But,  when  they  came  where  thou  thy  skill  didst  shew, 

They  drew  aback,  as  half  with  shame  confound 

Shepheard  to  see,  them  in  their  art  outgo. 


} 


COL.  Of  Muses,  Hobbinol,  I  con  no  skill, 
For  they  be  daughters  of  the  highest  Jove,     '  i' 
And  holden  scorn  of  homely  shepheard's  quill; 
For  sith  I  heard  that  Pan  with  Phoebus  strove, 
Which  him  to  much  rebuke  and  danger  drove, 
I  never  list  presume  to  Parnass  hill. 
But,  piping  low  in  shade  of  lowly  grove, 
I  play  to  please  myself,  all  be  it  ill. 


Nought  weigh  I,  who  my  song  doth  praise  or  blame, 
Ne  strive  to  win  renown,  or  pass  the  rest: 
With  shepheard  sits  not  follow  flying  Fame, 
But  feed  his  flock  in  fields  where  falls  them  best. 
I  wot  my  rhymes  be  rough,  and  rudely  drest ; 
The  fitter  they  my  careful  case  to  frame : 
Enough  is  me  to  paint  out  my  unrest, 
And  pour  my  piteous  plaints  out  in  the  same. 


/7, 


The  god  of  shepheards,  Tityrus,'"  is  dead. 
Who  taught  me  homely,  as  I  can,  to  make: 
He,  whilst  he  lived,  was  the  sovereign  head 
Of  shepheards  all  that  be  with  love  ytake ; 

^7 


»«'< 


.<^ 


Well  couth  he  wail  his  woes,  and  lightly  slake 
The  flames  which  love  within  his  heart  had  bred, 
And  tell  us  merry  tales  to  keep  us  wake, 
The  while  our  sheep  about  us  safely  fed. 

Now  dead  he  is,  and  lieth  wrapt  in  lead,  i^  V^' 

(O  why  should  Death  on  him  such  outrage  shewl^jjf  x^r 

And  all  his  passing  skill  with  him  is  fled,  .,  v' 

The  fame  whereof  doth  daily  greater  grow.     -^ 

But,  if  on  me  some  little  drops  would  flow 

Of  that  the  spring  was  in  his  learned  head, 

I  soon  would  learn  these  woods  to  wail  my  woe, 

And  teach  the  trees  their  trickling  tears  to  shed. 


'V' 


Then  should  my  plaints,  caus'd  of  discourtesy. 
As  messengers  of  this  my  painful  plight. 
Fly  to  my  love  where  ever  that  she  be, 
And  pierce  her  heart  with  point  of  worthy  wite. 
As  she  deserves,  that  wrought  so  deadly  spite. 
And  thou,  Menalcas!  that  by  treachery 
Didst  underfong  my  lass  to  wax  so  light, 
Shouldst  well  be  known  for  such  thy  villany. 

But  since  I  am  not  as  I  wish  I  were. 

Ye  gentle  shepheards !  which  your  flocks  do  feed. 

Whether  on  hills,  or  dales,  or  other  where. 

Bear  witness  all  of  this  so  wicked  deed ; 

And  tell  the  lass,  whose  flower  is  wox  a  weed. 

And  faultless  faith  is  turn'd  to  faithless  fear, 

That  she  the  truest  shepheard's  heart  made  bleed 

That  lives  on  earth,  and  loved  her  most  dear. 


HOB.  O!  careful  Colin,  I  lament  thy  case; 
Thy  tears  would  make  the  hardest  flint  to  flow! 
Ah!  faithless  Rosalind,  and  void  of  grace, 
That  art  the  root  of  all  this  ruthful  woe ! 

48 


But  now  is  time,  I  guess,  homeward  to  go: 
Then  rise,  ye  blessed  flocks!  and  home  apace. 
Lest  night  with  stealing  steps  do  you  foreslow, 
And  wet  your  tender  lambs  that  by  you  trace. 

COLIN'S  EMBLEME. 

Gia  speme  sperita. 
(Already  hope  is  lost.) 


lULY 


JULY.     ^GLOGA  SEPTIMA.     ARGUMENT. 

ThisiEglogueis  made  in  the  honour  and  commendation 
of  good  shepheards,  and  to  the  shame  and  dispraise  of 
proud  and  ambitious  pastors:  such  as  Morrell  is  here 
imagined  to  be. 

THOMALIN.     MORRELL." 

THOMALIN. 

Is  not  thilk  same  a  goatherd  proud, 

That  sits  on  yonder  bank, 
Whose  straying  herd  them  self  doth  shroud 

Among  the  bushes  rank? 
MOR.  What,  ho,  thou  jolly  shepheard's  swain, 

Come  up  the  hill  to  me; 
Better  is  than  the  lowly  plain, 

Als  for  thy  flock  and  thee. 
THOM.  Ah!  God  shield,  man,  that  I  should  climb, 

And  learn  to  look  aloft ;  ^ 

This  rede  is  rife,  that  oftentime 

Great  climbers  fall  unsoft. 
In  humble  dales  is  footing  fast, 

The  trode  is  not  so  tickle. 
And  though  one  fall  through  heedless  hast. 

Yet  is  his  miss  not  mickle. 
And  now  the  Sun  "  hath  reared  up 

His  fiery-footed  team. 
Making  his  way  between  the  Cup 

And  golden  Diademe; 
The  rampant  Lion  hunts  he  fast. 

With  dogs  of  noisome  breath. 
Whose  baleful  barking  brings  in  hast 

Pine,  plagues,  and  dreary  death. 
Against  his  cruel  scorching  heat, 

53 


Where  thou  hast  coverture, 
The  wasteful  hills  unto  his  threat 

Is  a  plain  overture : 
But,  if  thee  list  to  holden  chat 

With  seely  shepheard's  swain, 
Come  down,  and  learn  the  little  what, 

That  Thomalin  can  sayn. 
MOR.  Siker  thou 's  but  a  lazy  loord. 

And  recks  much  of  thy  swink. 
That  with  fond  terms,  and  witless  words. 

To  blear  mine  eyes  dost  think. 
In  evil  hour  thou  hentst  in  hand 

Thus  holy  hills  to  blame. 
For  sacred  unto  saints  they  stand, 

And  of  them  have  their  name. 
St.  Michel's  Mount  who  does  not  know, 

That  wards  the  Western  coast? 
And  of  St.  Bridget's  Bower  I  trow 

All  Kent  can  rightly  boast: 
And  they  that  con  of  Muses'  skill 

Sayn  most-what,  that  they  dwell 
(As  goatherds  wont)  upon  a  hill, 

Beside  a  learned  well. 
And  wonned  not  the  great  good  Pan 

Upon  Mount  Olivet, 
Feeding  the  blessed  flock  of  Dan, 

Which  did  himself  beget? 
THOM.  O  blessed  Sheep!  O  Shepheard  great! 

That  bought  his  flock  so  dear. 
And  them  did  save  with  bloody  sweat 

From  wolves  that  would  them  tear. 
MOR.  Beside,  as  holy  Fathers  sayn. 

There  is  a  holy  place 
Where  Titan  riseth  from  the  main 

To  run  his  daily  race. 
Upon  whose  top  the  stars  be  stay'd. 

And  all  the  sky  doth  lean ; 
There  is  the  cave  where  Phoebe  laid 

54 


The  shepheard  long  to  dream. 
Whilome  there  used  shepheards  all 

To  feed  their  flocks  at  will. 
Till  by  his  folly  one  did  fall, 

That  all  the  rest  did  spill. 
And,  sithens  shepheards  be  foresaid 

From  places  of  delight, 
Forthy  I  ween  thou  be  afraid 

To  climb  this  hilles  height. 
Of  Sinai  can  I  tell  thee  more. 

And  of  our  Lady's  Bower; 
But  little  needs  to  strow  my  store. 

Suffice  this  hill  of  our. 
Here  have  the  holy  Fauns  recourse. 

And  Sylvans  haunten  rathe ; 
Here  has  the  salt  Medway  his  source. 

Wherein  the  Nymphs  do  bathe; 
The  salt  Medway,  that  trickling  streams 

Adown  the  dales  of  Kent, 
Till  with  his  elder  brother  Themes 

His  brackish  waves  be  ment. 
Here  grows  melampode  every  where. 

And  terebinth,  good  for  goats; 
The  one  my  madding  kids  to  smear. 

The  next  to  heal  their  throats. 
Hereto,  the  hills  be  nigher  heaven, 

And  then  the  passage  eath; 
As  well  can  prove  the  piercing  levin. 

That  seldom  falls  beneath. 
THOM.  Siker  thou  speaks  like  a  lewd  lorrell, 

Of  heaven  to  deemen  so; 
How  be  I  am  but  rude  and  borrell, 

Yet  nearer  ways  I  know. 
To  kirk  the  narre,  from  God  more  far. 

Has  been  an  old-said  saw; 
And  he,  that  strives  to  touch  a  star. 

Oft  stumbles  at  a  straw. 
As  soon  may  shepheard  climb  to  sky 


That  leads  in  lowly  dales, 
As  goatherd  proud,  that,  sitting  high, 

Upon  the  mountain  sails. 
My  seely  sheep  like  well  below, 

They  need  not  melampode, 
For  they  be  hale  enough,  I  trow, 

And  liken  their  abode; 
But,  if  they  with  thy  goats  should  yede, 

They  soon  might  be  corrupted, 
Or  like  not  of  the  frowy  feed. 

Or  with  the  weeds  be  glutted. 
The  hills,  where  dwelled  holy  saints, 

I  reverence  and  adore. 
Not  for  themself,  but  for  the  saints 

Which  have  been  dead  of  yore. 
And  now  they  be  to  heaven  forewent, 

Their  good  is  with  them  go; 
Their  sample  only  to  us  lent. 

That  als  we  might  do  so. 
Shepheards  they  weren  of  the  best. 

And  lived  in  lowly  leas; 
And,  sith  they  souls  be  now  at  rest, 

Why  do  we  them  disease  ? 
Such  one  he  was  (as  I  have  heard 

Old  Algrind  often  sayn) 
That  whilome  was  the  first  shepheard. 

And  lived  with  little  gain: 
And  meek  he  was,  as  meek  might  be. 

Simple  as  simple  sheep; 
Humble,  and  like  in  each  degree 

The  flock  which  he  did  keep. 
Often  he  used  of  his  keep 

A  sacrifice  to  bring. 
Now  with  a  kid,  now  with  a  sheep. 

The  altars  hallowing. 
So  louted  he  unto  his  Lord, 

Such  favour  couth  he  find. 
That  never  sithens  was  abhorr'd 

56 


The  simple  shepheards'  kind. 
And  such,  I  ween,  the  brethren  were 

That  came  from  Canaan, 
The  brethren  Twelve,  that  kept  yfere 

The  flocks  of  mighty  Pan. 
But  nothing  such  thilk  shepheard  was 

Whom  Ida  hill  did  bear. 
That  left  his  flock  to  fetch  a  lass, 

Whose  love  he  bought  too  dear. 
For  he  was  proud,  that  ill  was  paid, 

(No  such  must  shepheards  be!) 
And  with  lewd  lust  was  overlaid; 

Two  things  doen  ill  agree. 
But  shepheard  must  be  meek  and  mild, 

Well-eyed,  as  Argus  was, 
With  fleshly  follies  undefiled, 

And  stout  as  steed  of  brass. 
Such  one  (said  Algrind)  Moses  was, 

That  saw  his  Maker's  face. 
His  face,  more  clear  then  crystal  glass, 

And  spake  to  him  in  place. 
This  had  a  brother,  (his  name  I  knew,) 

The  first  of  all  his  cote, 
A  shepheard  true,  yet  not  so  true 

As  he  that  erst  I  bote. 
Whilome  all  these  were  low  and  lief, 

And  loved  their  flocks  to  feed  ; 
They  never  stroven  to  be  chief. 

And  simple  was  their  weed: 
But  now  (thanked  be  God  therefore!) 

The  world  is  well  amend, 
Their  weeds  be  not  so  nighly  wore; 

Such  simplesse  might  them  shend! 
They  beyclad  in  purple  and  pall, 

So  hath  their  God  them  blist; 
They  reign  and  rulen  over  all, 

And  lord  it  as  they  list; 
Ygirt  with  belts  of  glittering  gold, 


(Might  they  good  shepheards  been!) 
Their  Pan  their  sheep  to  them  has  sold, 

I  say  as  some  have  seen. 
For  Palinode  (if  thou  him  ken) 

Yode  late  on  pilgrimage 
To  Rome,  (if  such  be  Rome,)  and  then 

He  saw  thilk  misusage ; 
For  shepheards  (said  he)  there  doen  lead. 

As  lords  done  other  where; 
Their  sheep  have  crusts,  and  they  the  bread; 

The  chips,  and  they  the  cheer: 
They  have  the  fleece,  and  eke  the  flesh, 

(O  seely  sheep  the  while !) 
The  corn  is  theirs,  let  others  thresh. 

Their  hands  they  may  not  file. 
They  have  great  store  and  thrifty  stocks. 

Great  friends  and  feeble  foes ; 
What  need  them  caren  for  their  flocks. 

Their  boys  can  look  to  those. 
These  wisards  welter  in  wealth's  waves, 

Pamper'd  in  pleasures  deep; 
They  have  fat  kerns,  and  leany  knaves. 

Their  fasting  flocks  to  keep. 
Sike  mister  men  be  all  misgone. 

They  heapen  hills  of  wrath; 
Such  surly  shepheards  have  we  none. 

They  keepen  all  the  path. 
MOR.  Here  is  a  great  deal  of  good  matter 

Lost  for  lack  of  telling ; 
Now  sicker  I  see  thou  dost  but  clatter. 

Harm  may  come  of  melling. 
Thou  meddlest  more  than  shall  have  thank, 

To  witen  shepheards'  wealth; 
When  folk  be  fat,  and  riches  rank, 

It  is  a  sign  of  health. 
But  say  me,  what  is  Algrind,  he 

That  is  so  oft  benempt? 
THOM.  He  is  a  shepheard  great  in  gree, 

58 


But  hath  been  long ypent: 
One  day  he  sat  upon  a  hill, 

As  now  thou  wouldest  me; 
But  I  am  taught,  by  Algrind's  ill, 

To  love  the  low  degree ; 
For  sitting  so  with  bared  scalp, 

An  eagle  '^  soared  high, 
That,  weening  his  white  head  was  chalk, 

A  shell-fish  down  let  fly; 
She  ween'd  the  shell-fish  to  have  broke. 

But  therewith  bruis'd  his  brain; 
So  now,  astonied  with  the  stroke, 

He  lies  in  lingering  pain. 
MOR.  Ah!  good  Algrind!  his  hap  was  ill, 

But  shall  be  better  in  time. 
Now  farewell,  shepheard,  sith  this  hill 

Thou  hast  such  doubt  to  climb. 


PALINODE'S  EMBLEME. 

In  medio  :irtus. 

(Virtue  dwells  in  the  middle  place.) 

MORRELL'S  EMBLEME. 
///  summo  felicitas. 
(Happiness  in  the  highest.) 


59 


•)\eGLOGA' 

octava- 


eMBLene 

5 


i^3fi^jL 


AUGUST.   /EGLOGA  OCTAVA.   ARGUMENT. 

In  this  iEglogue  is  set  forth  a  dele(5\able  controversy, 
made  in  imitation  of  that  in  Theocritus:  whereto  also 
Virgil  fashioned  his  third  and  seventh  iEglogue.  They 
chose  for  umpire  of  their  strife,  Cuddy,  a  neat-herd's 
boy;  who,  having  ended  their  cause,  reciteth  also  him- 
self a  proper  song,  whereof  Colin  he  saith  was  author. 

WILLIE.    PERIGOT.   CUDDIE. 

WILLIE. 

Tell  me,  Perigot,  what  shall  be  the  game, 

Wherefore  with  mine  thou  dare  thy  music  match? 
Or  be  thy  bagpipes  run  far  out  of  frame  ? 

Or  hath  the  cramp  thy  joints  benumb'd  with  ache  ? 
PER.  Ah!  Willie,  when  the  heart  is  ill  assay'd, 
How  can  bagpipe  or  joints  be  well  apaid? 
WIL.  What  the  foul  evil  hath  thee  so  bestad? 

Whilome  thou  was  peregall  to  the  best. 
And  wont  to  make  the  jolly  shepheards  glad, 

With  piping  and  dancing  didst  pass  the  rest. 
PER.  Ah!  Willie,  now  I  have  learn'd  a  new  dance; 
My  old  music  marr'd  by  a  new  mischance. 
WIL.  Mischief  might  to  that  mischance  befall, 

That  so  hath  reft  us  of  our  merriment; 
But  rede  me  what  pain  doth  thee  so  appal; 

Or  lovest  thou,  or  be  thy  younglings  miswent? 
PER.  Love  hath  misled  both  my  younglings  and  me ; 
I  pine  for  pain,  and  they  my  pain  to  see. 
WIL.  Perdie,  and  wellaway!  ill  may  they  thrive; 

Never  knew  I  lover's  sheep  in  good  plight: 
But  and  if  in  rhymes  with  me  thou  dare  strive, 

Such  tond  fantasie  s  shall  soon  be  put  to  flight. 
PER.  That  shall  I  do,  though  mochell  worse  I  fared: 

63 


1 


^ 


K 


Never  shall  be  said  that  Perigot  was  dared. 
WIL.  Then  lo,  Perigot,  the  pledge  which  I  plight, 

A  mazer  ywrought  of  the  maple  warre, 
Wherein  is  enchased  many  a  fair  sight 

Of  bears  and  tigers,  that  maken  fierce  war; 
And  over  them  spread  a  goodly  wild  vine, 
Entrailed  with  a  wanton  ivy  tw^ine. 
Thereby  is  a  lamb  in  the  wolves  jaws; 

But  see,  how  fast  runneth  the  shepheard  swain 
To  save  the  innocent  from  the  beast's  paws. 

And  here  with  his  sheephook  hath  him  slain. 
Tell  me,  such  a  cup  hast  thou  ever  seen? 
Well  might  it  beseem  any  harvest  queen. 
PER.  Thereto  will  I  pawn  yonder  spotted  lamb; 

Of  all  my  flock  there  n'is  such  another, 
For  I  brought  him  up  without  the  dam; 

But  Colin  Clout  reft  me  of  his  brother. 
That  he  purchas'd  of  me  in  the  plain  field; 
Sore  against  my  will  was  I  forc'd  to  yield. 
WIL.  Sicker,  make  like  account  of  his  brother; 

But  who  shall  judge  the  wager  won  or  lost? 
PER.  That  shall  yonder  herdgroom  and  none  other, 
.  Which  over  the  pease  hitherward  doth  post. 
WIL.  But,  for  the  sunbeam  so  sore  doth  us  beat^ 
Were  not  better  to  shun  the  scorching  heat? 
PER.  Well  agreed,  Willie;  then  set  thee  down,  swain; 

Such  a  song  never  heardest  thou  but  Colin  sing. 
CUD.  'Gin,  when  ye  list,  ye  jolly  shepheards  twain ; 

Such  a  judge,  as  Cuddie,  were  for  a  king. 
PER.  "  It  fell  upon  a  holy  eve, 
WIL.       Hey,  ho,  holiday! 
PER.  When  holy  Fathers  wont  to  shrieve; 
WIL.  ,    Now  ginneth  this  roundelay. 
PER.  Sitting  upon  a  hill  so  high, 
WIL.      Hey,  ho,  the  high  hill ! 
PER.  The  while  my  flock  did  feed  thereby; 
WIL.      The  while  the  shepheard  self  did  spill ; 
PER.  I  saw  the  bouncing  Bellibone, 

64 


WIL.       Hey,  ho.  Bonnibell! 

PER.  Trippingover  the  dale  alone; 

WIL.       She  can  trip  it  very  well. 

PER.  Well  decked  in  a  frock  of  gray, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  gray  is  greet! 

PER.  Andin  akirtle  of  green  saye, 

WIL.       The  green  is  for  maidens  meet. 

PER.  Achapelet  on  her  head  she  wore, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  chapelet! 

PER.  Of  sweet  violets  therein  was  store, 

WIL.       She  sweeter  than  the  violet. 

PER.  My  sheep  did  leave  their  wonted  food, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  seely  sheep! 
\[  PER.  And  gaz'd  on  her  as  they  were  wood, 

1^     WIL.       Wood  as  he  that  did  them  keep. 

PER.  As  the  bonilass  passed  by, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  bonilass! 

PER.  She  rov'd  at  me  with  glancing  eye, 

WIL.       As  clear  as  the  crystal  glass: 

PER.  All  as  the  sunny  beam  so  bright, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  sun-beam ! 

PER.  Glanceth  from  Phoebus'  face  forthright, 

WIL.       So  love  into  thy  heart  did  stream : 

PER.  Or  as  the  thunder  cleaves  the  clouds, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  thunder! 

PER.  Wherein  the  lightsome  levin  shrouds, 

WIL.       So  cleaves  thy  soul  asunder: 

PER.  Or  as  Dame  Cynthia's  silver  ray, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  moonlight! 

PER.  Upon  the  glittering  wave  doth  play, 

WIL.       Such  play  is  a  piteous  plight. 

PER.  The  glance  into  my  heart  did  glide, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  glider! 

PER.  Therewith  my  soul  was  sharply  gryde, 

WIL.       Such  wounds  soon  waxen  wider. 

PER.  Hasting  to  wrench  the  arrow  out, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  Perigot! 

PER.  I  left  the  head  in  my  heart-root, 

65 


WIL.      It  was  a  desperate  shot. 

PER.  There  it  rankleth  aye  more  and  more, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  arrow! 

PER.  Ne  can  I  find  salve  for  my  sore, 

WIL.      Love  is  a  careless  sorrow. 

PER.  And  though  my  bale  with  death  I  bought, 

WIL.      Hey,  ho,  heavy  cheer! 

PER.  Yet  should  thilk  lass  not  from  my  thought, 

WIL.       So  you  may  buy  gold  too  dear. 

PER.  But  whether  in  painful  love  I  pine, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  pinching  pain! 

PER.  Or  thrive  in  wealth,  she  shall  be  mine, 

WIL.       But  if  thou  can  her  obtain. 

PER.  And  if  for  graceless  grief  I  die, 

WIL.      Hey,  ho,  graceless  grief! 

PER.  Witness  she  slew  me  with  her  eye, 

WIL.      Let  thy  folly  be  the  prief. 

PER.  And  you,  that  saw  it,  simple  sheep, 

WIL.       Hey,  ho,  the  fair  flock ! 

PER.  For  prief  thereof,  my  death  shall  weep, 

WIL.       And  moan  with  many  a  mock. 

PER.  So  learn'd  I  love  on  aholy  eve, 

WIL.      Hey,  ho,  holy-day! 

PER.  That  ever  since  my  heart  did  grieve, 

WIL.       Now  endeth  our  roundelay." 

CUD.  Sicker,  such  a  roundel  never  heard  I  none ; 

Little  lacketh  Perigot  of  the  best. 
And  Willie  is  not  greatly  overgone, 

So  weren  his  under-songs  well  addrest. 
WIL.  Herdgroom,  I  fear  me  thou  have  a  squint  eye : 
Arede  uprightly,  who  has  the  vid^ory. 
CUD.  Faith  of  my  soul,  I  deem  each  have  gained; 

Forthy  let  the  lamb  be  Willie  his  own; 
And  for  Perigot,  so  well  hath  him  pained, 

To  him  be  the  wroughten  mazer  alone. 
PER.  Perigot  is  well  pleased  with  the  doom, 
Ne  can  Willie  wite  the  witeless  herdgroom. 
WIL.  Never  dempt  more  right  of  beauty,  I  ween, 

66 


\^smj<. 


£ 


The  shepheard  of  Ida  that  judged  Beauty's  queen. 
CUD.  But  tell  me,  shepheards,  should  it  not  yshend 

Your  roundels  fresh,  to  hear  a  doleful  verse 
Of  Rosalind  (who  knows  not  Rosalind?) 

That  Colin  made?  ilk  can  I  you  rehearse. 
PER.  Now  say  it,  Cuddie,  as  thou  art  a  lad; 

With  merry  thing  it 's  good  to  medle  sad. 
WIL.  Faith  of  my  soul,  thou  shalt  ycrowned  be 

In  Colin's  stead,  if  thou  this  song  arede; 
For  never  thing  on  earth  so  pleaseth  me 

As  him  to  hear,  or  matter  of  his  deed. 
CUD.  Then  listen  each  unto  my  heavy  lay, 
And  tune  your  pipes  as  ruthful  as  ye  may. 

"Ye  wasteful  Woods!  bear  witness  of  my  woe, 
Wherein  my  plaints  did  oftentimes  resound; 
Ye  careless  Birds  are  privy  to  my  cries. 
Which  in  your  songs  were  wont  to  make  a  part: 
Thou,  pleasant  Spring,  hast  lull'd  me  oft  asleep, 
Whose  streams  my  trickling  tears  did  oft  augment! 

**  Resort  of  people  doth  my  griefs  augment, 

The  walled  towns  do  work  my  greater  woe; 

The  forest  wide  is  fitter  to  resound 

The  hollow  echo  of  my  careful  cries. 

I  hate  the  house,  since  thence  my  love  did  part. 

Whose  wailful  want  debars  mine  eyes  of  sleep. 

"  Let  streams  of  tears  supply  the  place  of  sleep; 
Let  all,  that  sweet  is,  void;  and  all,  that  may  augment 
My  dole,  dra^A^  near!  More  meet  to  wail  my  woe 
Be  the  wild  woods,  my  sorrows  to  resound. 
Than  bed,  nor  bower,  both  which  I  fill  with  cries. 
When  I  them  see  so  waste,  and  find  no  part 

"  Of  pleasure  past.    Here  will  I  dwell  apart 
In  gastful  grove  therefore,  till  my  last  sleep 

67 


?=»*. 


,V^~ 


Do  close  mine  eyes;  so  shall  I  not  augment 
With  sight  of  such  as  change  my  restless  woe. 
Help  me,  ye  baneful  Birds!  whose  shrieking  sound 
Is  sign  of  dreary  death,  my  deadly  cries 


"Most  ruthfully  to  tune:  and  as  my  cries 
(Which  of  my  woe  cannot  bewray  least  part) 
You  hear  all  night,  when  Nature  craveth  sleep. 
Increase,  so  let  your  irksome  yells  augment. 
Thus  all  the  nights  in  plaints,  the  day  in  woe, 
I  vowed  have  to  waste,  till  safe  and  sound 


♦'  She  home  return,  whose  voice's  silver  sound 
To  cheerful  songs  can  change  my  cheerless  cries. 
Hence  with  the  nightingale  will  I  take  part, 
That  blessed  bird,  that  spends  her  time  of  sleep 
In  songs  and  plaintive  pleas,  the  more  t'  augment 
The  memory  of  his  misdeed  that  bred  her  woe. 

"And  you  that  feel  no  woe,  when  as  the  sound 

Of  these  my  nightly  cries  ye  hear  apart. 

Let  break  your  sounder  sleep,  and  pity  augment." 

PER.  O  Colin,  Colin!  the  shepheards' joy, 
How  I  admire  each  turning  of  thy  verse; 

And  Cuddie,  fresh  Cuddie,  the  liefest  boy. 
How  dolefully  his  dole  thou  didst  rehearse! 

CUD.  Then  blow  your  pipes,  shepheards,  till  you  be  at 
home; 

The  night  hieth  fast,  it 's  time  to  be  gone. 

PERIGOT  HIS  EMBLEME.'^ 

Vincejiti  gloria  vidi. 

(To  the  conqueror  belongs  the  glory  of  the  conquered.) 


•seprcnBtR- 

•AeOLOGTl- 


ISsJ^ 


SEPTEMBER.     -flEGLOGA    NONA.     ARGUMENT. 


Herein  Diggon  Davie  is  devised  to  be  a  shepheard  that, 
in  hope  of  more  gain,  drove  his  sheep  into  a  far  country. 
The  abuses  whereof,and  loose  living  of  Popishprelates, 
by  occasion  of  Hobbinol's  demand,  he  discourseth  at 
large. 

HOBBINOL.     DIGGON   DAVIE. 

HOBBINOL. 

Diggon  Davie!  I  bid  her  good-day; 

Or  Diggon  her  is,  or  I  missay. 

DIG.  Her  was  her,  while  it  was  day-light, 

But  now  her  is  a  most  wretched  wight : 

For  day,  that  was,  is  wightly  past, 

And  now  at  erst  the  dark  night  doth  hast. 

HOB.  Diggon,  arede  who  has  thee  so  dight; 

Never  I  wist  thee  in  so  poor  a  plight. 

Where  is  the  fair  flock  thou  wast  wont  to  lead? 

Or  be  they  chafFred,  or  at  mischief  dead? 

DIG.  Ah!  for  love  of  that  is  to  thee  most  lief, 

Hobbinol,  I  pray  thee  gall  not  my  old  grief; 

Such  question  rippeth  up  cause  of  new  woe, 

For  one,  opened,  might  unfold  many  moe. 

HOB.  Nay,  but  sorrow  close  shrouded  in  heart, 

I  know,  to  keep  is  a  burdenous  smart: 

Each  thing  imparted  is  more  eath  to  bear: 

When  the  rain  is  fallen,  the  clouds  waxen  clear. 

And  now,  sithence  I  saw  thy  head  last. 

Thrice  three  moons  be  fully  spent  and  past; 

Since  when  thou  hast  measured  much  ground, 

And  wandered  well  about  the  world  round, 

So  as  thou  can  many  things  relate; 

But  tell  me  first  of  thy  flock's  estate. 


DIG.  My  sheep  be  wasted;  (woe  is  me  therefore!) 

The  jolly  shepheard  that  was  of  yore, 

Is  now  nor  jolly,  nor  shepheard  more. 

In  foreign  coasts  men  said  was  plenty; 

And  so  there  is,  but  all  of  misery: 

I  deem'd  there  much  to  have  eked  my  store, 

But  such  eking  hath  made  my  heart  sore. 

In  those  countries,  whereas  I  have  been, 

No  being  for  those  that  truly  mean ; 

But  for  such,  as  of  guile  maken  gain. 

No  such  country  as  there  to  remain; 

They  setten  to  sale  their  shops  of  shame, 

And  maken  a  mart  of  their  good  name: 

The  shepheards  there  robben  one  another, 

And  layen  baits  to  beguile  their  brother; 

Or  they  will  buy  his  sheep  out  of  the  cote. 

Or  they  will  carven  the  shepheard's  throat. 

The  shepheard's  swain  you  cannot  well  ken, 

But  it  be  by  his  pride,  from  other  men; 

They  looken  big  as  bulls  that  be  bate. 

And  bearen  the  crag  so  stiff  and  so  state, 

As  cock  on  his  dunghill  crowing  crank. 

HOB.  Diggon,  I  am  so  stiff  and  so  stank. 

That  uneath  may  I  stand  any  more ; 

And  now  the  western  wind  bloweth  sore. 

That  now  is  in  his  chief  sovereignty. 

Beating  the  withered  leaf  from  the  tree ; 

Sit  we  down  here  under  the  hill ; 

Then  may  we  talk  and  tellen  our  fill, 

And  make  a  mock  at  the  blustering  blast: 

Now  say  on,  Diggon,  whatever  thou  hast. 

DIG.  Hobbin,  ah  Hobbin!  I  curse  the  stound 

That  ever  I  cast  to  have  lorn  this  ground: 

Well-away  the  while  I  was  so  fond 

To  leave  the  good,  that  I  had  in  bond. 

In  hope  of  better  that  was  uncouth, 

So  lost  the  dog  the  flesh  in  his  mouth. 

My  silly  sheep  (ah!  silly  sheep!) 


74 


That  here  by  there  I  whilome  us'd  to  keep, 

All  were  they  lusty  as  thou  didest  see, 

Be  all  starved  with  pine  and  penury; 

Hardly  myself  escaped  thilk  pain, 

Driven  for  need  to  come  home  again. 

HOB.  Ah!  fon,  now  by  thy  loss  art  taught 

That  seldom  change  the  better  brought: 

Content  who  lives  with  tried  state, 

Need  fear  no  change  of  frowning  Fate; 

But  who  will  seek  for  unknown  gain, 

Oft  lives  by  loss,  and  leaves  with  pain. 

DIG.  I  wot  ne,  Hobbin,  how  I  was  bewitch'd 

With  vain  desire  and  hope  to  be  enrich'd: 

But,  sicker,  so  it  is,  as  the  bright  star 

Seemeth  aye  greater  when  it  is  far: 

I  thought  the  soil  would  have  made  me  rich, 

But  now  I  wot  it  is  nothing  sich; 

For  either  the  shepheards  be  idle  and  still. 

And  led  of  their  sheep  what  way  they  will, 

Or  they  be  false,  and  full  of  covetise. 

And  casten  to  compass  many  wrong  emprise : 

But  the  more  be  fraught  with  fraud  and  spite, 

Ne  in  good  nor  goodness  taken  delight. 

But  kindle  coals  of  contest  and  ire. 

Wherewith  they  set  all  the  world  on  fire; 

Which  when  they  thinken  again  to  quench, 

With  holy  water  they  do  them  all  drench. 

They  say  they  con  to  heaven  the  highway, 

But  by  my  soul  I  dare  undersay 

They  never  set  foot  in  that  same  troad, 

But  balk  the  right  way,  and  strayen  abroad. 

They  boast  they  have  the  devil  at  command. 

But  ask  them  therefore  what  they  have  pawn'd : 

Marry!  that  great  Pan  bought  with  dear  borrow. 

To  quit  itf  rom  the  black  bower  of  sorrow. 

But  they  have  sold  thilk  same  long  ago, 

For  they  woulden  draw  with  them  many  moe. 

But  let  them  gang  alone  a  God's  name ; 


,'^S 


Va 


As  they  have  brewed,  so  let  them  bear  blame. 
HOB.  Diggon,  I  pray  thee  speak  not  so  dirk; 
Such  mister  saying  me  seemeth  to  mirk. 
DIG.  Then,  plainly  to  speak  of  shepheards'  most  what, 
Badis  the  best;  (this  English  is  flat) 
Their  ill  haviour  gars  men  missay 
Both  of  their  do(ftrine,  and  their  fay. 
They  sayn  the  world  is  much  war  than  it  wont, 
All  for  her  shepheards  be  beastly  and  blont. 
Other  sayn,  but  how  truly  I  n'ote, 
All  for  they  holden  shame  of  their  cote : 
Some  stick  not  to  say,  (hot  coal  on  their  tongue !) 
That  such  mischief  graseth  them  among. 
All  for  they  casten  too  much  of  world's  care, 
To  deck  their  dame,  and  enrich  their  heir; 
For  such  encheason,  if  you  go  nigh. 
Few  chimneys  reeking  you  shall  espy. 
The  fat  ox,  that  wont  lig  in  the  stall. 
Is  now  fast  stalled  in  their  crumenall. 
Thus  chatten  the  people  in  their  steads, 
Alike  as  a  monster  of  many  heads: 
But  they,  that  shooten  nearest  the  prick, 
Sayn,  other  the  fat  from  their  beards  doen  lick: 
For  big  bulls  of  Bashan  brace  them  about, 
That  with  their  horns  butten  the  more  stout; 
But  the  lean  souls  treaden  under  foot, 
And  to  seek  redress  might  little  boot; 
For  liker  be  they  to  pluck  away  more. 
Than  ought  of  the  gotten  good  to  restore: 
For  they  be  like  foul  quagmires  overgrass'd. 
That,  if  thy  galage  once  sticketh  fast. 
The  more  to  wind  it  out  thou  dost  swink, 
Thou  must  aye  deeper  and  deeper  sink. 
Yet  better  leave  off  with  a  little  loss. 
Than  by  much  wrestling  to  lose  the  gross. 
HOB.  Now,  Diggon,  I  see  thou  speakest  too  plain; 
Better  it  were  a  little  to  feign, 
And  cleanly  cover  that  cannot  be  cured; 

76 


Such  ill,  as  is  forced,  must  needs  be  endured. 

But  of  such  pastors  how  do  the  flocks  creep? 

DIG.  Such  as  the  shepheards,  such  be  their  sheep, 

For  they  nill  listen  to  the  shepheard's  voice; 

But  if  he  call  them,  at  their  good  choice 

They  wander  at  will  and  stay  at  pleasure, 

And  to  their  folds  yede  at  their  own  leisure. 

But  they  had  be  better  come  at  their  call; 

For  many  have  unto  mischief  fall, 

And  been  of  ravenous  wolves  yrent, 

All  for  they  nould  be  buxom  and  bent. 

HOB.  Fie  on  thee,  Diggon,  and  all  thy  foul  leasing; 

Well  is  known  that,  sith  the  Saxon  king,'' 

Never  was  wolf  seen,  many  nor  some, 

Nor  in  all  Kent,  nor  in  Christendom; 

But  the  fewer  wolves  (the  sooth  to  sayn) 

The  more  be  the  foxes  that  here  remain. 

DIG.  Yes,  but  they  gang  in  more  secret  wise. 

And  with  sheeps'  clothing  doen  them  disguise. 

They  walk  not  widely  as  they  were  wont, 

For  fear  of  rangers  and  the  great  hunt. 

But  privily  prowling  to  and  fro, 

Enaunter  they  might  be  inly  know. 

HOB.  Or  privy  or  pert  if  any  bin, 

We  have  great  bandogs  will  tear  their  skin. 

DIG.  Indeed  thy  Ball  is  a  bold  big  cur, 

And  could  make  a  jolly  hole  in  their  fur: 

But  not  good  dogs  them  needeth  to  chase, 

But  heedy  shepheards  to  discern  their  face ; 

For  all  their  craft  is  in  their  countenance. 

They  be  so  grave  and  full  of  maintenance. 

But  shall  I  tell  thee  what  myself  know 

Chanced  to  Roffin  not  long  ago? 

HOB.  Say  it  out,  Diggon,  whatever  it  hight, 

For  not  but  well  might  him  betight: 

He  is  so  meek,  wise,  and  merciable. 

And  with  his  word  his  v/ork  is  convenable. 

Colin  Clout,  I  ween,  be  his  self  boy, 


(Ah,  for  Colin !  he  whilome  my  joy:) 
Shepheards  such,  God  might  us  many  send, 
That  doen  so  carefully  their  flocks  tend. 
DIG.  Thilk  same  shepheard  might  I  well  mark, 
He  has  a  dog  to  bite  or  to  bark; 
Never  had  shepheard  so  keen  a  cur. 
That  waketh  and  if  but  a  leaf  stur. 
"Whilome  there  wonned  a  wicked  wolf. 
That  with  many  a  lamb  had  gutted  his  gulf, 
And  ever  at  night  wont  to  repair 
Unto  the  flock,  when  the  welkin  shone  fair, 
Yclad  in  clothing  of  silly  sheep, 
When  the  good  old  man  used  to  sleep; 
Then  at  midnight  he  would  bark  and  bawl, 
(For  he  had  eft  learned  a  curres  call,) 
As  if  a  wolf  were  among  the  sheep : 
With  that  the  shepheard  would  break  his  sleep, 
And  send  out  Lowder  (for  so  his  dog  hote) 
To  range  the  fields  with  wide  open  throat. 
Then,  when  as  Lowder  was  far  away. 
This  wolvish  sheep  would  catchen  his  prey, 
A  lamb,  or  a  kid,  or  a  weanel  wast; 
With  that  to  the  wood  would  he  speed  him  fast. 
Long  time  he  used  this  slippery  prank. 
Ere  Roffy  could  for  his  labour  him  thank. 
At  end,  the  shepheard  his  pracftice  spied, 
(For  Roffy  is  wise,  and  as  Argus  eyed,) 
And,  when  at  even  he  came  to  the  flock. 
Fast  in  their  folds  he  did  them  lock. 
And  took  out  the  wolf  in  his  counterfeit  coat. 
And  let  out  the  sheep's  blood  at  his  throat. 
HOB.  Marry,  Diggon,  what  should  him  aff"ray 
To  take  his  own  where  ever  it  lay? 
For,  had  his  weasand  been  a  little  widder, 
He  would  have  devoured  both  bidder  and  shidder. 
DIG.  Mischief  light  on  him,  and  God's  great  curse, 
Too  good  for  him  had  been  a  great  deal  worse; 
For  it  was  a  perilous  beast  above  all, 

78 


And  eke  had  he  cond  the  shepheard's  call. 

And  oft  in  the  night  came  to  the  sheep-cote, 

And  called  Lowder,  with  a  hollow  throat, 

As  if  the  old  man  self  had  been: 

The  dog  his  master's  voice  did  it  ween, 

Yet  half  in  doubt  he  opened  the  door, 

And  ran  out  as  he  was  wont  of  yore. 

No  sooner  was  out,  but,  swifter  than  thought, 

Fast  by  the  hide  the  wolf  Lowder  caught ; 

And,  had  not  Roffy  run  to  the  steven, 

Lowder  had  been  slain  thilk  same  even. 

HOB.  God  shield,  man,  he  should  so  ill  have  thrive, 

All  for  he  did  his  devoir  belive. 

If  such  be  wolves,  as  thou  hast  told, 

How  might  we,  Diggon,  them  behold? 

DIG.  How,  but,  with  heed  and  watchfulness, 

Forstallen  them  of  their  wiliness: 

Forthy  with  shepheard  sits  not  play, 

Or  sleep,  as  some  doen,  all  the  long  day; 

But  ever  liggen  in  watch  and  ward, 

From  sudden  force  their  flocks  for  to  guard. 

HOB.  Ah!  Diggon,  thilk  same  rule  were  too  strait, 

All  the  cold  season  to  watch  and  wait: 

We  be  of  flesh,  men  as  other  be. 

Why  should  we  be  bound  to  such  misery? 

Whatever  thing  lacketh  changeable  rest. 

Must  needs  decay,  when  it  is  at  best. 

DIG.  Ah!  but,  Hobbinol,  all  this  long  tale 

Nought  easeth  the  care  that  doth  me  forhaile; 

What  shall  I  do?  what  way  shall  I  wend, 

My  piteous  plight  and  loss  to  amend? 

Ah!  good  Hobbinol,  might  I  thee  pray 

Of  aid  or  counsel  in  my  decay? 

HOB.  Now  by  my  soul,  Diggon,  I  lament 

The  hapless  mischief  that  has  thee  hent; 

Natheless  thou  seest  my  lowly  sail. 

That  froward  Fortune  doth  ever  availe : 

But,  were  Hobbinol  as  God  might  please, 

72 


<SJ 


Diggon  should  soon  find  favour  and  ease: 
But  if  to  my  cottage  thou  wilt  resort, 
So  as  I  can  I  will  thee  comfort; 
There  mayst  thou  lig  in  a  vetchy  bed, 
Till  fairer  Fortune  shew  forth  his  head. 
DIG.  Ah!  Hobbinol,  God  may  it  thee  requite; 
Diggon  on  few  such  friends  did  ever  light. 

DIGGON'S  EMBLEME. 

Tnopem  tne  copia  fecit. 

(Plenty  has  made  me  poor.) 


80 


bcTCB€R- 
AeGJLOGA- 


r 


OCTOBER.   iEGLOGA  DECIMA.   ARGUMENT. 

In  Cuddie  is  set  out  the  perfetft  pattern  of  a  Poet,  which, 
finding  no  maintenance  of  his  state  and  studies,  com- 
plaineth  of  the  contempt  of  Poetry,  and  the  causes 
thereof:  specially  having  been  in  all  ages,  and  even 
amongst  the  most  barbarous,  always  of  singular  account 
and  honour,  and  being  indeed  so  worthy  and  commend- 
able an  art;  or  rather  no  art,  but  a  divine  gift  and 
heavenly  instincft  not  to  be  gotten  by  labour  and  learn- 
ing, but  adorned  with  both;  and  poured  into  the  wit  by 
a  certain  Enthousiasmos  and  celestial  inspiration,  as 
the  Author  hereof  elsewhere  at  large  discourseth  in  his 
book  called  The  English  Poet,  which  book  being  lately 
come  to  my  hands,  I  mind  also  by  God's  grace,  upon 
further  advisement,  to  publish. 

PIERS.    CUDDIE. 

PIERS. 

Cuddie,  for  shame,  hold  up  thy  heavy  head, 
And  let  us  cast  with  what  delight  to  chase 
And  weary  this  long  ling'ring  Phoebus'  race. 
Whilome  thou  wont  the  shepheards'  lads  to  lead 
In  rhymes,  in  riddles,  and  in  bidding  base; 
Now  they  in  thee,  and  thou  in  sleep,  art  dead. 

CUD.  Piers,  I  have  piped  erst  so  long  with  pain. 
That  all  mine  oaten  reeds  be  rent  and  wore. 
And  my  poor  Muse  hath  spent  her  spared  store. 
Yet  little  good  hath  got,  and  much  less  gain. 
Such  pleasance  makes  the  grasshopper  so  poor, 
And  lig  so  laid,  when  winter  doth  her  strain. 

The  dapper  ditties,  that  I  wont  devise. 
To  feed  youth's  fancy,  and  the  flocking  fry, 

83 


m 


Delighten  much;  what  I  the  bett  forthy? 
They  have  the  pleasure,  I  a  slender  prise: 
I  beat  the  bush,  the  birds  to  them  do  fly: 
What  good  thereof  to  Cuddie  can  arise? 


i 


PIERS.  Cuddie,  the  praise  is  better  than  the  price, 
The  glory  eke  much  greater  than  the  gain:  --x  ^ 

O  what  an  honour  is  it,  to  restrain  vA \t 

The  lust  of  lawless  youth  with  good  advice,  0#i>tf 
Or  prick  them  forth  with  pleasance  of  thy  vein,  *  yf 
Whereto  thou  list  their  trained  wills  entice !  ^ 

Soon  as  thou  'ginn'st  to  set  thy  notes  in  frame, 
O  how  the  rural  routs  to  thee  do  cleave ! 
Seemeth  thou  dost  their  soul  of  sense  bereave, 
All  as  the  shepheard  that  did  fetch  his  dame 
From  Pluto's  baleful  bower  withouten  leave; 
His  music's  might  the  hellish  hound  did  tame. 

CUD.  So  praisen  babes  the  peacock's  spotted  train, 

And  wondren  at  bright  Argus'  blazing  eye; 

But  who  rewards  him  e'er  the  more  forthy. 

Or  feeds  him  once  the  fuller  by  a  grain  ? 

Such  praise  is  smoke,  that  sheddeth  in  the  sky; 

Such  words  be  wind,  and  wasten  soon  in  vain. 

PIERS.  Abandon  then  the  base  and  viler  clown; 

Lift  up  thyself  out  of  the  lowly  dust. 

And  sing  of  bloody  Mars,  of  wars,  of  giusts; 

Turn  thee  to  those  that  wield  the  awful  crown,    ' 

To  doubted  knights,  whose  woundless  armour  rusts, 

And  helms  unbruised  waxen  daily  brown. 

There  may  thy  Muse  display  her  flutt'ring  wing, 
And  stretch  herself  at  large  from  east  to  west; 
Whither  thou  list  in  fair  Elisa  "  rest. 
Or,  if  thee  please  in  bigger  notes  to  sing, 
Advance  the  Worthy  whom  she  loveth  best. 
That  first  the  White  Bear  to  the  stake  did  bring. 

84 


iffiS^jL 


r^ 


And,  when  the  stubborn  stroke  of  stronger  stounds 

Has  somewhat  slack'd  the  tenor  of  thy  string, 

Of  love  and  lustihead  then  mayst  thou  sing, 

And  carol  loud,  and  lead  the  Miller's  round, 

All  were  Elisa  one  of  thilk  same  ring; 

So  might  our  Cuddie's  name  to  heaven  sound. 

CUD.  Indeed  the  Romish  Tityrus,  I  hear,  I 

Through  his  Mecaenas  left  his  oaten  reed,  ^  \J{i^ 

Whereon  he  erst  had  taught  his  flocks  to  feed, 

And  laboured  lands  to  yield  the  timely  ear, 

And  eft  did  sing  of  wars  and  deadly  dreed 

So  as  the  heavens  did  quake  his  verse  to  hear.    ,  . 

But  ah!  Mecaenas  is  yclad  in  clay,  m  fA*^ 

And  great  Augustus  long  ago  is  dead,     ^^ 
And  all  the  worthies  liggen  wrapt  in  lead, 
That  matter  made  for  poets  on  to  play: 
For  ever,  who  in  derring-do  were  dread, 
The  lofty  verse  of  them  was  loved  aye. 

But  after  Virtue  gan  for  age  to  stoop, 
And  mighty  Manhood  brought  a  bed  of  ease, 
The  vaunting  poets  found  nought  worth  a  pease 
To  put  in  press  among  the  learned  troop; 
Then  gan  the  streams  of  flowing  wits  to  cease, 
And  sunbright  honour  penn'd  in  shameful  coop. 

And  if  that  any  buds  of  Poesy, 
Yet  of  the  old  stock,  gan  to  shoot  again. 
Or  it  men's  follies  must  to-force  to  feign. 
And  roll  with  rest  in  rhymes  of  ribaudry  ; 
Or,  as  it  sprung,  it  wither  must  again; 
Tom  Piper  makes  us  better  melody. 

PIERS.  O  peerless  Po'sy!  where  is  then  thy  place? 
If  nor  in  princes'  palace  thou  dost  sit, 
(And  yet  is  princes'  palace  the  most  fit,) 

8.S 


Ne  breast  of  baser  birth  doth  thee  embrace, 
Then  make  thee  wings  of  thine  aspiring  wit, 
And,  whence  thou  cam'st,  fly  back  to  heaven  apace. 

CUD.  Ah!  Percy,  it  is  all-to  weak  and  wan, 
So  high  to  soar  and  make  so  large  a  flight; 
Her  pieced  pinions  be  not  so  in  plight: 
For  Colin  fits  such  famous  flight  to  scan; 
He,  were  he  not  with  love  so  ill  bedight. 
Would  mount  as  high  and  sing  as  sweet  as  swan. 

PIERS.  Ah !  fon ;  for  Love  does  teach  him  climb  so  high,   U 


.^.\^P 


And  lifts  him  up  out  of  the  loathsome  mire: 
Such  immortal  mirror,  as  he  doth  admire. 
Would  raise  one's  mind  above  the  starry  sky. 
And  cause  a  caitiff" courage  to  aspire; 
For  lofty  love  doth  loathe  a  lowly  eye. 

CUD.  All  otherwise  the  state  of  Poet  stands ; 
For  lordly  Love  is  such  a  tyrant  fell, 
That,  where  he  rules,  all  power  he  doth  expel; 
The  vaunted  verse  a  vacant  head  demands, 
Ne  wont  with  crabbed  care  the  Muses  dwell: 
Unwisely  weaves,  that  takes  two  webs  in  hand. 


Who  ever  casts  to  compass  weighty  prize. 

And  thinks  to  throw  out  thund'ring  words  of  threat, 

Let  pour  in  lavish  cups  and  thrifty  bits  of  meat, 

For  Bacchus'  fruit  is  friend  to  Phoebus  wise ;        ^'    ^• 

And,  when  with  wine  the  brain  begins  to  sweat,  ^   jV 

The  numbers  flow  as  fast  as  spring  doth  rise.         y^ 

Thou  kenst  not,  Percie,  how  the  rhyme  should  rage; 

O  if  my  temples  were  distain'd  with  wine, 

And  girt  in  garlands  of  wild  ivy  twine. 

How  I  could  rear  the  Muse  on  stately  stage, 

And  teach  her  tread  aloft  in  buskin  fine. 

With  quaint  Bellona  in  her  equipage ! 

86 


But  ah!  my  courage  cools  ere  it  be  warm: 

Forthy  content  us  in  this  humble  shade, 

Where  no  such  troublous  tides  have  us  assay'd; 

Here  we  our  slender  pipes  may  safely  charm. 

PIERS.  And,  when  my  goats  shall  have  their  bellies  laid, 

Cuddie  shall  have  a  kid  to  store  his  farm. 

CUDDIE'S   EMBLEME 

Ai^itanie  caUscimus  ilio,  etc. 


7Z 

NOV£MBeR: 


NOVEMBER. 
MENT. 


iEGLOGA  UNDECIMA.   ARGU- 


In  this  xi.  JEglogue  he  bewaileth  the  death  of  some 
maiden  of  great  blood,  whom  he  calleth  Dido.  The  per- 
sonage is  secret,  and  to  me  altogether  unknown,  albeit 
of  himself  I  often  required  the  same.  This  iEglogue 
is  made  in  imitation  of  Marot  his  song,  which  he  made 
upon  the  death  of  Loyes  the  French  Queen;  but  far 
passing  his  reach,  and  in  mine  opinion  all  other  the 
iEglogues  of  this  Book. 

THENOT.    COLIN. 

THENOT. 

Colin,  my  dear,  when  shall  it  please  thee  sing, 
As  thou  wert  wont,  songs  of  some  jovisance? 
Thy  Muse  too  long  slumb'reth  in  sorrowing, 
Lulled  asleep  through  Love's  misgovernance. 
Now  somewhat  sing,  whose  endless  sovenance 
Among  the  shepheards'  swains  may  aye  remain, 
Whether  thee  list  thy  loved  lass  advance, 
Or  honour  Pan  with  hymns  of  higher  vein. 
COL.  Thenot,  now  n'is  the  time  of  merrimake, 
Nor  Pan  to  herie,  nor  with  Love  to  play; 
Such  mirth  in  May  is  meetest  for  to  make, 
Or  summer  shade,  under  the  cocked  hay. 
But  now  sad  winter  welked  hath  the  day. 
And  Phoebus,  weary  of  his  yearly  task, 
Ystabled  hath  his  steeds  in  lowly  lay. 
And  taken  up  his  inn  in  Fishes'  '"  hask: 
Thilk  sullen  season  sadder  plight  doth  ask, 
And  loatheth  such  delights  as  thou  dost  praise  : 
The  mournful  Muse  in  mirth  nov/  list  ne  mask, )  ,' 
As  she  was  wont  in  youth  and  summer-days; 

9' 


But  if  thou  algate  lust  light  virelays, 

And  looser  songs  of  love  to  underfong, 

Who  but  thyself  deserves  such  poets'  praise? 

Relieve  thy  oaten  pipes  that  sleepen  long. 

THE.  The  nightingale  is  sovereign  of  song, 

Before  him  sits  the  titmouse  silent  be; 

And  I,  unfit  to  thrust  in  skilful  throng, 

Should  Colin  make  judge  of  my  foolery. 

Nay,  better  learn  of  them  that  learned  be. 

And  have  been  watered  at  the  Muses'  well; 

The  Kindly  dew  drops  from  the  higher  tree, 

And  wets  the  little  plants  that  lowly  dwell: 

But  if  sad  winter's  wrath,  and  season  chill, 

Accord  not  with  thy  Muse's  merriment. 

To  sadder  times  thou  mayst  attune  thy  quill. 

And  sing  of  sorrow  and  death's  dreariment; 

For  dead  is  Dido,^^  dead,  alas!  and  drent. 

Dido!  the  great  shepheard  his  daughter  sheen: 

The  fairest  may  she  was  that  ever  went. 

Her  like  she  has  not  left  behind,  I  ween: 

And,  if  thou  wilt  bewail  my  woful  teen, 

I  shall  thee  give  yond  cosset  for  thy  pain; 

And,  if  thy  rhymes  as  round  and  rueful  been 

As  those  that  did  thy  Rosalind  complain. 

Much  greater  gifts  for  guerdon  thou  shalt  gain. 

Than  kid  or  cosset,  which  I  thee  benempt: 

Then  up,  I  say,  thou  jolly  shepheard  swain. 

Let  not  my  small  demand  be  so  contempt. 

COL.  Thenot,  to  that  I  chose  thou  dost  me  tempt; 

But  ah !  too  well  I  wot  my  humble  vein. 

And  how  my  rhymes  be  rugged  and  unkempt; 

Yet,  as  I  con,  my  conning  I  will  strain. 


"  Up,  then,  Melpomene!  the  mournful'st  Muse  of  Nine, 
Such  cause  of  mourning  never  hadst  afore ; 
Up,  grisly  ghosts!  and  up  my  rueful  rhyme! 
Matter  of  mirth  now  shalt  thou  have  no  more; 
For  dead  she  is,  that  mirth  thee  made  of  yore. 


92 


Dido,  my  dear,  alas!  is  dead, 
Dead,  and  lieth  wrapt  in  lead. 

O  heavy  herse! 
Let  streaming  tears  be  poured  out  in  store; 

O  careful  verse! 

"Shepheards.thatbyyourflocks  ofKentish  downsabide, 

Wail  ye  this  woful  waste  of  Nature's  wark ; 

Wail  we  the  wight,  whose  presence  was  our  pride ; 

Wail  we  the  wight,  whose  absence  is  our  cark; 

The  sun  of  all  the  world  is  dim  and  dark; 

The  earth  now  lacks  her  wonted  light, 

And  all  we  dwell  in  deadly  night. 
O  heavy  herse! 
Break  we  our  pipes,  that  shrill'd  as  loud  as  lark; 
O  careful  verse! 

"Why  do  we  longer  live,  (ah!  why  live  we  so  long?) 

Whose  better  days  Death  hath  shut  up  in  woe.' 

The  fairest  flower  our  garland  all  among 

Is  faded  quite,  and  into  dust  ygo. 

Sing  now,  ye  shepheards'  daughters,  sing  no  moe 
The  songs  that  Colin  made  you  in  her  praise, 
But  into  weeping  turn  your  wanton  lays. 
O  heaVy  herse! 

Now  is  time  to  die :  nay,  time  was  long  ago: 
O  careful  verse! 

"Whence  is  it,  that  the  flowret  of  the  field  doth  fade, 
And  lieth  buried  long  in  Winter's  bale; 
Yet,  soon  as  Spring  his  mantle  hath  display'd, 
It  flow'reth  fresh,  as  it  should  never  fail  ? 
But  thing  on  earth  that  is  of  most  avail, 
As  virtue's  branch  and  beauty's  bud, 
Reliven  not  for  any  good. 

O  heavy  herse! 
The  branch  once  dead,  the  bud  eke  needs  must  quail; 

O  careful  verse! 

93 


li 


!i 


"She,  while  she  was,  (that  was,  a  woful  word  to  sayn!) 

For  beauty's  praise  and  pleasance  had  no  peer; 

So  well  she  couth  the  shepheards  entertain 

With  cakes  and  cracknels,  and  such  country  cheer: 

Ne  would  she  scorn  the  simple  shepheard's  swain; 

For  she  would  call  him  often  heme, 

And  give  him  curds  and  clouted  cream. 
O  heavy  herse! 
Als  Colin  Clout  she  would  not  once  disdain; 
O  careful  verse ! 

"But  now  such  happy  cheer  is  turn'd  to  heavy  chance, 

Such  pleasance  now  displac'd  by  dolor's  dint; 

All  music  sleeps,  where  Death  doth  lead  the  dance, 

And  shepheards'  wonted  solace  is  extin(5l. 

The  blue  in  black,  the  green  in  gray,  is  tin(rt; 

The  gaudy  garlands  deck  her  grave, 

The  faded  flowers  her  corse  embrave. 
O  heavy  herse! 
Mourn  now,  my  Muse,  now  mourn  with  tears  besprint; 
O  careful  verse! 

' '  O  thou  great  shepheard,  Lobbin ,  how  great  is  thy  grief? 
Where  be  the  nosegays  that  she  dight  for  thee? 
The  coloured  chaplets  wrought  with  a  chief, ^° 
The  knotted  rush-rings,  and  gilt  rosemary? 
For  she  deemed  nothing  too  dear  for  thee. 

Ah!  they  be  all  yclad  in  clay; 

One  bitter  blast  blew  all  away. 
O  heavy  herse! 
Thereof  nought  remains  but  the  memory; 
O  careful  verse! 


"Ah  me !  that  dreary  death  should  strike  so  mortal  stroke , 
That  can  undo  Dame  Nature's  kindly  course; 
The  faded  locks  fall  from  the  lofty  oak. 
The  floods  do  gasp,  for  dried  is  their  source. 
And  floods  of  tears  flow  in  their  stead  perforce: 


Maagu 


The  mantled  meadows  mourn, 
Their  sundry  colours  turn. 

O  heavy  herse! 
The  heavens  do  melt  in  tears  without  remorse; 

O  careful  verse! 

"The  feeble  flocks  in  field  refuse  their  former  food, 
And  hang  their  heads  as  they  would  learn  to  weep; 
The  beasts  in  forest  wail  as  they  were  wood. 
Except  the  wolves,  that  chase  the  wand'ring  sheep. 
Now  she  is  gone  that  safely  did  them  keep: 
The  turtle  on  the  bared  branch 
Laments  the  wound  that  Death  did  launch. 

O  heavy  herse! 
And  Philomele  her  song  with  tears  doth  steep; 

O  careful  verse! 

"The  water  nymphs,  that  wont  with  her  to  sing  and 

dance, 
And  for  her  garland  olive  branches  bear, 
Now  baleful  boughs  of  cypress  do  advance; 
The  Muses,  that  were  wont  green  bays  to  wear. 
Now  bringen  bitter  elder  branches  sere  ; 
The  Fatal  Sisters  eke  repent 
Her  vital  thread  so  soon  was  spent. 

O  heavy  herse  ! 
Mourn  now,  my  Muse,  now  mourn  with  heavy  cheer; 

O  careful  verse! 

"O  trustless  state  of  earthly  things,  and  slipper  hope 
Of  mortal  men,  that  swink  and  sweat  for  nought. 
And,  shooting  wide,  doth  miss  the  marked  scope; 
Now  have  I  learn'd  fa  lesson  dearly  bought) 
That  n'is  on  earth  assurance  to  be  sought; 

For  what  might  be  in  earthly  mould, 

That  did  her  buried  body  hold? 
O  heavy  herse! 
Yet  saw  I  on  the  bier  when  it  was  brought; 
O  careful  verse! 

95 


"  But  maugre  Death,  and  dreaded  Sisters'  deadly  spite, 
And  gates  of  hell,  and  fiery  Furies'  force, 
She  hath  the  bonds  broke  of  eternal  night, 
Her  soul  unbodied  of  the  burdenous  corse. 
Why  then  weeps  Lobbin  so  without  remorse  ? 

0  Lobb!  thy  loss  no  longer  lament; 
Dido  is  dead,  but  into  heaven  hent. 

O  happy  herse! 
Cease  now,  my  Muse,  now  cease  thy  sorrows'  source, 
O joyful  verse! 

"Why  wail  we  then?  why  weary  we  the  gods  with   ^/i 

plaints. 
As  if  some  evil  were  to  her  betight? 
She  reigns  a  goddess  now  among  the  saints. 
That  whilome  was  the  saint  of  shepheards  light, 
And  is  installed  now  in  heavens'  height, 

1  see  thee,  blessed  soul!  I  see 
Walk  in  Elysian  fields  so  free. 

O  happy  herse! 
Might  I  once  come  to  thee,  (O  that  I  might!) 
O  joyful  verse! 

"Unwise  and  wretched  men,  to  weet  what's  good  or  ill, 

We  deenr  of  death  as  doom  of  ill  desert; 

But  knew  we,  fools,  what  it  us  brings  until. 

Die  would  we  daily,  once  it  to  expert! 

No  danger  there  the  shepheard  can  assert; 

Fair  fields  and  pleasant  lays  there  bene; 

The  fields  aye  fresh,  the  grass  aye  green. 
O  happy  herse! 
Make  haste,  ye  shepheards,  thitherto  revert. 
O joyful  verse! 

"  Dido  is  gone  afore ;  (whose  turn  shall  be  the  next  ?) 
There  lives  she  with  the  blessed  gods  in  bliss, 
There  drinks  she  necTtar  with  ambrosia  mixt, 
And  joys  enjoys  that  mortal  men  do  miss. 

96 


The  honour  now  of  highest  gods  she  is, 

That  whilome  was  poor  shepheards'  pride, 
While  here  on  earth  she  did  abide. 
O  happy  herse! 
Cease  now,  my  song,  my  woe  now  wasted  is; 
O  joyful  verse!" 

THE.  Ay,  frank  shepheard,  how  be  thy  verses  meint 
With  doleful  pleasance,  so  as  I  ne  wot 
Whether  rejoice  or  weep  for  great  constraint ! 
Thine  be  the  cosset,  well  hast  thou  it  got. 
Up,  Colin,  up,  enough  thou  mourned  hast; 
Now  'gins  to  mizzle,  hie  we  homeward  fast. 

COLIN'S  EMBLEME. 

La  mort  ny  mord. 

(Death  has  lost  its  sting.) 


^/fr^    If^ 


•  ''^i<^ 


97 


AeGLOGXy 

DuoDecinA' 


COLIN 'i  •     ,^0^. 


tiJMJMTgfi, 


^ 


DECEMBER. 
MENT. 


i^GLOGA  DUODECIMA.  '     ARGU- 


This  i^glogue  (even  as  the  first  began)  is  ended  with  a 
complaint  of  Colin  to  god  Pan;  wherein,  as  weary  of 
his  former  ways,  he  proportioneth  his  life  to  the  four 
seasons  of  the  year;  comparing  his  youth  to  the  spring 
time,  when  he  was  fresh  and  free  from  love's  folly. 
His  manhood  to  the  summer,  which,  he  saith,  was  con- 
sumed with  great  heat  and  excessive  drouth,  caused 
through  a  comet  or  blazing  star,  by  which  he  meaneth 
love;  which  passion  is  commonly  compared  to  such 
flames  and  immoderate  heat.  His  ripest  years  he  re- 
sembleth  to  an  unseasonable  harvest,  wherein  the 
fruits  fall  ere  they  be  ripe.  His  latter  age  to  winter's 
chill  and  frosty  season,  now  drawing  near  to  his  last 
end. 

The  gentle  shepheard  sat  beside  a  spring. 

All  m  the  shadow  of  a  bushy  brere. 

That  Colin  hight,  which  well  could  pipe  and  sing, 

For  he  of  Tityrus  his  song  did  lere: 
There,  as  he  sat  in  secret  shade  alone. 
Thus  gan  he  make  of  love  his  piteous  moan. 

"O  sovereign  Pan!  thou  god  of  shepheards  all. 
Which  of  our  tender  lambkins  takest  keep. 
And,  when  our  flocks  into  mischance  might  fall. 
Dost  save  from  mischief  the  unwary  sheep, 
Als  of  their  masters  hast  no  less  regard 
Than  of  the  flocks,  which  thou  dost  watch  and  ward; 

"I  thee  beseech  Tso  be  thou  deign  to  hear 
Rude  ditties,  tun'd  to  shepheard's  oaten  reed. 
Or  if  I  ever  sonnet  sung  so  clear. 


?=*x 


5 


Hi 


A)^- 


As  it  with  pleasance  might  thy  fancy  feed,) 
Hearken  a  while,  from  thy  green  cabinet, 
The  rural  song  of  careful  Colinet. 

"  Whilome  in  youth,  when  flower'd  my  joyful  spring, 

Like  swallow  swift  I  wander'd  here  and  there; 

For  heat  of  heedless  lust  me  so  did  sting, 

That  I  of  doubted  danger  had  no  fear: 

I  went  the  wasteful  woods  and  forest  wide, 
Withouten  dread  of  wolves  to  be  espied. 

"I  wont  to  range  amid  the  mazy  thicket, 
And  gather  nuts  to  make  my  Christmas-game, 
And  joyed  oft  to  chase  the  trembling  pricket, 
Or  hunt  the  heartless  hare  till  she  were  tame. 
What  recked  I  of  wintry  age's  waste? — 
Then  deemed  I  my  spring  would  ever  last. 

"How  often  have  I  scaled  the  craggy  oak. 
All  to  dislodge  the  raven  of  her  nest  ? 
How  have  I  wearied,  with  many  a  stroke. 
The  stately  walnut-tree,  the  while  the  rest 

Under  the  tree  fell  all  for  nuts  at  strife? 

For  like  to  me  was  liberty  and  life. 

"And  for  I  was  in  thilk  same  looser  years, 
(Whether  the  Muse  so  wrought  me  from  my  birth, 
Or  I  too  much  believ'd  my  shepheard  peers,) 
Somedele  ybent  to  song  and  music's  mirth, 
A  good  old  shepheard,  Wrenock  was  his  name, 
Made  me  by  art  more  cunning  in  the  same. 

"Fro  thence  I  durst  in  derringto  compare 
With  shepheard's  swain  whatever  fed  in  field; 
And,  if  that  Hobbinol  right  judgment  bare, 
To  Pan  his  own  self  pipe  I  need  not  yield: 

For,  if  the  flocking  nymphs  did  follow  Pan, 

The  wiser  Muses  after  Colin  ran. 


"But,  ah!  such  pride  at  length  was  ill  repaid; 
The  shepheard's  god  (perdie,  god  was  he  none) 
My  hurtless  pleasance  did  me  ill  upbraid, 
My  freedom  lorn,  my  life  he  left  to  moan. 

Love  they  him  called  that  gave  me  check-mate, 
But  better  might  they  have  behote  him  Hate. 


"Then  gan  my  lovely  spring  bid  me  farewell, 
And  summer  season  sped  him  to  display 
(For  Love  then  in  the  Lion's  house  did  dwell,) 
The  raging  fire  that  kindled  at  his  ray. 
A  comet  stirr'd  up  that  unkindly  heat. 
That  reigned  (as  men  said)  in  Venus'  seat. 

"Forth  was  I  led,  not  as  I  wont  afore, 
When  choice  I  had  to  choose  my  wand'ring  way, 
But  whether  luck  and  love's  unbridled  lore 
Would  lead  me  forth  on  Fancy's  bit  to  play: 
The  bush  my  bed,  the  bramble  was  my  bower, 
The  woods  can  witness  many  a  woful  stowre. 

"Where  I  was  wont  to  seek  the  honey  bee. 
Working  her  formal  rooms  in  waxen  frame. 
The  grisly  toadstool  grown  there  might  I  see. 
And  loathed  paddocks  lording  on  the  same : 
And,  where  the  chanting  birds  lull'd  me  asleep, 
The  ghastly  owl  her  grievous  inn  doth  keep. 

"Then  as  the  spring  gives  place  to  elder  Time, 

And  bringeth  forth  the  fruit  of  summer's  pride; 

All  so  my  age,  now  passed  youthly  prime, 

To  things  of  riper  season  self  applied. 

And  learn'd  of  lighter  timber  cotes  to  frame, 
Such  as  might  save  my  sheep  and  me  fro  shame. 

"To  make  fine  cages  for  the  nightingale. 
And  baskets  of  bulrushes,  was  my  wont: 
Who  to  entrap  the  fish  in  winding  sale 

103 


} 


Was  better  seen,  or  hurtful  beasts  to  hont? 
I  learned  als  the  signs  of  heaven  to  ken, 
How  Phoebus  fails,  where  Venus  sets,  and  when. 

"And  tried  time  yet  taught  me  greater  things; 
The  sudden  rising  of  the  raging  seas, 
The  sooth  of  birds  by  beating  of  their  wings. 
The  power  of  herbs,  both  which  can  hurt  and  ease, 
And  which  be  wont  t'  enrage  the  restless  sheep, 
And  which  be  wont  to  work  eternal  sleep. 

"But,  ah!  unwise  and  witless  Colin  Clout, 
That  kydst  the  hidden  kinds  of  many  a  weed. 
Yet  kydst  not  one  to  cure  thy  sore  heart-root. 
Whose  rankling  wound  as  yet  does  rifely  bleed. 
Why  livest  thou  still,  and  yet  hast  thy  death's  wound  ?   (^ 
Why  diest  thou  still,  and  yet  alive  art  found? 

"Thus  is  my  summer  worn  away  and  wasted, 

Thus  is  my  harvest  hastened  all-to  rathe; 

The  ear  that  budded  fair  is  burnt  and  blasted, 

And  all  my  hoped  gain  is  turn'd  to  scathe. 
Of  all  the  seed,  that  in  my  youth  was  sown. 
Was  none  but  brakes  and  brambles  to  be  mown. 


"My  boughs  with  blooms  that  crowned  were  at  first. 
And  promised  of  timely  fruit  such  store. 
Are  left  both  bare  and  barren  now  at  erst; 
The  flattering  fruit  is  fallen  to  ground  before. 

And  rotted  ere  they  were  half  mellow  ripe; 

My  harvest,  waste,  my  hope  away  did  wipe. 

"  The  fragrant  flowers,  that  in  my  garden  grew, 
Be  withered,  as  they  had  been  gathered  long: 
Their  roots  be  dried  up  for  lack  of  dew. 
Yet  dewed  with  tears  they  have  been  ever  among. 
Ah !  who  has  wrought  my  Rosalind  this  spite. 
To  spoil  the  flowers  that  should  her  garland  dight? 

104 


"And  I,  that  whilome  wont  to  frame  my  pipe 
Unto  the  shifting  of  the  shepheard's  foot. 
Such  follies  now  have  gathered  as  too  ripe. 
And  cast  them  out  as  rotten  and  unsoote. 

The  looser  lass  I  cast  to  please  no  more  ; 

One  if  I  please,  enough  is  me  therefore. 

' '  And  thus  of  all  my  harvest-hope  I  have 

Nought  reaped  but  a  weedy  crop  of  care; 

Which,  when  Ithought  havethresh'din  swellingsheave, 

Cockle  for  corn,  and  chaff  for  barley,  bare : 
Soon  as  the  chaff  should  in  the  fan  be  fin'd, 
All  was  blown  away  of  the  wavering  wind. 

"  So  now  my  year  draws  to  his  latter  term, 
My  spring  is  spent,  my  summer  burnt  up  quite ; 
My  harvest  hastes  to  stir  up  Winter  stern, 
And  bids  him  claim  with  rig,orous  rage  his  right : 

So  now  he  storms  with  many  a  sturdy  stour; 

So  now  his  blust'ring  blast  each  coast  doth  scour. 

"The  careful  cold  hath  nipt  my  rugged  rind. 
And  in  my  face  deep  furrows  eld  hath  pight: 
My  head  besprent  with  hoary  frost  I  find, 
And  by  mine  eye  the  crow  his  claw  doth  write : 

Delight  is  laid  abed;  and  pleasure  past; 

No  sun  now  shines;  clouds  have  all  overcast. 

"Now  leave,  ye  shepheards'  boys,  your  merry  glee ; 
My  Muse  is  hoarse  and  weary  of  this  stound : 
Here  will  I  hang  my  pipe  upon  this  tree, 
Was  never  pipe  of  reed  did  better  sound: 

Winter  is  come  that  blows  the  bitter  blast. 

And  after  winter  dreary  death  does  hast. 

"Gather  together,  ye  my  little  flock. 
My  little  flock,  that  was  to  me  so  lief; 
Let  me,  ah!  let  me  in  your  folds  ye  lock, 

'05 


Ere  the  breme  winter  breed  you  greater  grief. 
Winter  is  come,  that  blows  the  baleful  breath, 
And  after  winter  cometh  timely  death. 

"Adieu,  delights,  that  lulled  me  asleep; 

Adieu,  my  dear,  whose  love  I  bought  so  dear; 

Adieu,  my  little  lambs  and  loved  sheep; 

Adieu,  ye  woods,  that  oft  my  witness  were : 
Adieu,  good  Hobbinol,  that  was  so  true. 
Tell  Rosalind,  her  Colin  bids  her  adieu." 

COLIN'S  EMBLEME. 

Vivitur  ingenio :  C(ztera  mortis  enint. 

(The  creations  of  genius  live;  other  things  shall  be  the 

prey  of  death.) 


M^^^] 


io6 


EPILOGUE. 

Lo!  I  have  made  a  Calender  for  every  year, 
That  steel  in  strength,  and  time  in  durance,  shall  out- 
wear; 
And,  if  I  marked  well  the  stars'  revolution, 
It  shall  continue  till  the  world's  dissolution. 
To  teach  the  ruder  shepheard  how  to  feed  his  sheep, 
And  from  the  falser's  fraud  his  folded  flock  to  keep. 

Go,  little  Calender!  thou  hast  a  free  passport; 
Go  but  a  lowly  gate  amongst  the  meaner  sort : 
Dare  not  to  match  thy  pipe  with  Tityrus  his  style,' 
Nor  with  the  Pilgrim"'  that  the  ploughman  play'd  a 

while; 
But  follow  them  far  off,  and  their  high  steps  adore ; 
The  better  please,  the  worse  despise ;  I  ask  no  more. 

MERCE  NON  MERCEDE. 

(For  recompense,  but  not  for  hire.) 


NOTES. 

Piigi-  xviii,  note  i. — The  name  of  the  writer  of  this  letter  is 
unknown. 

Pil^f  5,  notf  2.  -"  Hobbinol :  "  the  authors  friend  Gabriel 
Harvey. 

Pa^^d  10,  note  ^. — "Good  Friday:"  Good  Friday  is  saiti 
to  frown,  as  being  a  fast-day. 

Pa^e  16,  note  4. — Thenot's  emblem  means,  in  substance, 
that  God,  who  is  aged  Himself,  being  without  be- 
ginning of  days,  makes  those  whom  He  loves,  to 
be  aged,  like  Himself;  and  that  it  is  a  mark  of  His 
favour  to  be  old.  Cuddie's  emblem  is,*"  No  old 
man  fears  God  " — a  sarcasm  against  Thenot. 

/'ii^'e  29,  note  5. — "  Tawdry:  "  is  here  used  m  its  primitive 
sense,  denoting  something  bought  at  the  fair  of  St. 
Ethelred,  or  St.  Awdrey. 

Page  30,  note  6. — "  This  poesy  is  taken  out  of  Virgil,  and 
there  of  him  used  in  the  person  of  JEneas  to  his 
mother  Venus,  appearing  to  him  in  likeness  of  one 
of  Diana's  damsels ;  being  there  most  divinely  set 
forth.  To  which  similitude  of  divinity  Hobbinol 
comparing  the  excellency  of  Elisa,  and  being 
through  the  worthiness  of  Colin's  song,  as  it  were, 
overcome  with  the  hugeness  of  his  imagination, 
bursteth  out  in  great  admiration,  (O  quam  tc  vumoroii 
rirgol)  being  otherwise  unable,  than  by  sudden 
silence,  to  express  the  worthiness  of  his  conceit. 
Whom  Thenot  answereth  with  another  part  of  the 
like  verse,  as  confirming  by  his  grant  and  approv- 
ance,  that  Elisa  is  no  whit  inferior  to  the  majesty 
of  her,  of  whom  the  poet  so  boldly  pronounced, 
O  Jea  rerte.'"      E.  K. 

Page  35,  note  7.  -"  Algrind  :  "  Archbishop  Grindall. 

109 


Page  37,  7iote  8. — "  Fox,"  "  Kid :  "  "  By  the  Kid  may  be 
understood  the  simple  sort  of  the  faithful  and  true 
Christians ;  by  his  dam,  Christ,  that  hath  already 
with  careful  watchwords  (as  here  doth  the  Goat) 
warned  her  little  ones  to  beware  of  such  doubling 
deceit ;  by  the  Fox,  the  false  and  faithless  Papists, 
to  whom  is  no  credit  to  be  given,  nor  fellowship  to 
be  used."— E.  K. 

Page  41,  note  9. — "  Sir  John  :  "  a  name  applied  to  a  Popish 
priest. 

Page  47,  note  10. — "  Tityrus  :  "  Chaucer  is  meant. 

Page  53,  note  11. — "  Morrell :  "  supposed  to  be  Elmer,  or 
Aylmer,  Bishop  of  London. 

Po-S^  53,  note  12. — "The  sun:"  the  sun  enters  Leo  in 
July. 

Page  59,  note  13. — "  An  eagle  :  "  the  same  story  is  told  of 
the  death  of  Eschylus. 

Pages  68,  69,  note  14. — "  The  meaning  hereof  is  very  ambi- 
guous: forPerigotbyhisposyclaimingtheconquest, 
and  Willie  not  yielding,  Cuddie  the  arbiter  of  their 
cause,  and  patron  of  his  own,  seemeth  to  challenge 
it,  as  his  due,  saying,  that  he  is  happy  which  can ; 
so  abruptly  ending;  but  he  meaneth  either  him, 
that  can  win  the  best,  or  moderate  himself  being 
best,  and  leave  off  with  the  best." — E.  K. 

Page  77,  note  15.—"  Saxon  king:  "  King  Edgar,  in  whose 
reign  wolves  are  said  to  have  disappeared  in 
England. 

Page  84,  note  16.—"  Elisa  :  "  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  the 
"  Worthy  "  is  the  Earl  of  Leicester. 

Page  87,  note  17. — This  emblem  is  portion  of  a  Latin  verse, 
expressing  the  thought  of  the  pastoral,  that  poetry 
is  a  fervid  glow  of  inspiration  which  animates  and 
kindles. 

Page  91,  note  18. — "  Fishes  :  "  the  sun  enters  the  constel- 
lation Pisces  in  November. 

/'a^^92,  «^/^  19.— '•  Dido"  and  "great  shepheard"  both 
refer  to  real  persons  unknown. 


Page  94,  note-  20.  — "  Wrought  with  a  chief:  "  wrought  into 

a  head,  like  a  nosegay. 
Page  loi,  note  21. — Translated  freely  from  the  French  of 

Marot. 
Page  107,  rii'te  22. — "  The  pilgrim  :  "  perhaps  the  author  of 

the  "  Visions  of  Pierce  Ploughman.  " 


?=*^ 


GLOSSARY. 


Accloyeth,  encumbfreth. 

Accoyed,  daitnUd. 

Adawed,  liaunttd. 

Adays,  a'ery  day. 

Albe,  although. 

Alegge,  assuage. 

Algate,  at  all  rants. 

All,  although. 

All  be  it,  \}  It  hough  it  be. 

All-to,  entirely. 

All-to  rathe,  too  early. 

Als,  also. 

Arede,  declare,  repeat,  explain. 

Assayed,  affected. 

Assert,  befall. 

Assot,  stupid. 

As  weren   overwent,  as  if 

we  were  o~i'ercome. 
At  erst,  at  last. 
Attone,  also. 
Attones,  at  same  time. 
Availe,  bring  doicn,  lower. 
Availes,  is  lowered. 

Babes,  dolls. 

Bale,  ruin. 

Balk,  miss. 

Bate,  bated,  fed. 

Bedight,  affected. 

Behight,  behote,  called. 

B el i  V e ,  promptly. 

Bellibone  {belle  et  bonne),  good 

and  beautiful  one. 
Bend,  band. 


Bene,  are. 

Benempt,  named,  mentioned. 

Bent,  obedient. 

Besprint,  besprent,  be- 
sprinkled. 

Betight,  betide,  happened. 

Bett,  better. 

Bidding  base,  game  of  prison 
base. 

Biggen,  cap. 

Bin,  be. 

Black  bower,  i.e.,  hell. 

Bloncket  \\vt.v\z^s, gray  coats. 

Blont,  unpolished. 

Borrell,  rustic. 

"Bovrovj,  pledge,  surety,  Saviour. 

Brace,  compass. 

Brag,  bragly,  proudly. 

Breme,  sharp. 

Brent,  burnt. 

Brere,  brier. 

Brocage,  pimping. 

Bugle,  beads. 

But,  unless. 

Buxom,  yielding. 

Can,  knows. 

Careful,  sorro-uful. 

Careful    case,    unhappy  cor.- 

d it  ion. 
Cark,  sorroiv. 

Chaffred,  sold  or  exchanged. 
Chamfred,  -wrinkled. 
Charm,  temper,  tune. 


Chevisance,  performajicc^  7'e- 

suit,  bargain. 
Chips,  fragmefits. 
Collusion,  amning. 
Con,  know. 
Cond,  learned. 
Confusion,  destruction. 
Contempt,  conteinned. 
Convenable,  conformable. 
Corb,  crooked. 
Cosset,  lamb. 
Cote,  sheep/old. 
Courage,  fnind. 
Couth,  knew  how,  could. 
Cracknels,  biscuits. 
Crag,  neck. 
Crank,  courageous. 
Crumenall,  ptirse. 


Dapper  dXftxzs,  pretty  songs. 
Deed,  doing,  cojnpositig. 
Defast,  defaced. 
Dempt,  deemed. 
Depeincten,  painted. 
Derring,  manly  deeds. 
Derring-do,  daring  deeds. 
Devoir,  duty. 
Dight,  adorn, prepare;  adorned, 

prepared,  dealt  with. 
Dint,  pang  of  grief . 
Dirk,  darkly. 
Dirks,  darkens. 
Disease,  disturb. 
Dole,  dool,  sorrow,  grief. 
Doom,  judgment. 
Doubted,  redoubted. 
Drent,  dro^vned,  perished. 


Eath,  easy. 
Eft,  quickly,  soon. 
Eftsoons,  immediately. 
Eked,  increased. 
Eld,  age. 
Embrave,  adorn. 
Emprise,  enterprise. 
Enaunter,  lest,  lest  that. 
Enchased,  engraved. 
Encheason,  occasion. 
Entrailed,  intwined. 
Erst,  before,  at  once. 
Expert,  experience. 

Faitours,  villains,  vagabonds. 
Falsers,  deceivers. 
Fay,  faith. 
File,  defile. 
Fined,  sifted. 
Von,  fool. 
¥  ond,  foolish. 
Fondness,  >//)'. 
Fonly,  foolishly. 
Foresaid,  banished. 
Foreslow,  impede,  obstruct. 
Forestall,  prevent. 
Forhaile,  distress. 
For-say,  forsake. 
Forswat,  spent  with  heat. 
Forswonk,  overlaboiired. 
Forthy,  therefore,  07i  that  ac- 

C02int. 
Frenne,  stranger. 
Frorne,  frozen. 
Frowy,  nmsty. 

Galage,  7voodcn  shoe. 
Gang,  go. 


Gars,  Diakes. 

Gastful,  dreary. 

Gate,  way. 

Gelt,  a  gildeii  girJh: 

Giant,  Ai/as. 

Giusts,  tourna incuts. 

Go,  i:;one. 

Gree,  de^ee. 

Greet,  wetp  .   ntourning. 

Gride,  grydc,  />urud. 

Gross,  whole. 

Harbrough,  habitation . 
Hask,  basket. 
Haveour,  demeanour. 
Heme,  home. 
Hent,  took,  taken. 
Hentst,  takest. 
Herdgrooms,  herdsmen. 
Herie,  hery,  honour,  praise. 
Herse,  rehearsal,  tale. 
Heydeguys,  dances. 
Hidder  and  shidder,///w  an,.. 

her. 
Hight,  purports  ;  was  named. 
Hote,  mentiotied ;  was  called. 

If,  unless. 
Ilk,  the  same. 
Inly,  inwardly. 
Inn,  abode. 

Jovisance,  joyousness. 

Keep,  care,  charge. 
Ken,  kninc. 
Kend,  knenon. 
Kenst,  kno7i>cst. 


Kerns,  /a rmers. 
Kirk,  church. 
Knack,  tn'ck. 
Knaves,  senants. 
Kydst,  kno'west. 

Laid,  faint. 

L,arded,  J  aliened. 

Latched,  caught. 

Lays,  leas,  fields. 

'LeaiSing,  falsehood,  lies. 

Lere,  lore,  lesson  ;  learn. 

Lever,  rather. 

Levin,  lightning. 

L,ewd,  foolish. 

Lewdly,  foolishly. 

Lief,  dear,  beloved. 

Lig,  ligg,  liggen,  lie. 

'L.oord,  fellow. 

Lope,  leaped. 

Lorn,  left,  lost. 

Lorrell,     ignorant,    worthless 

felUmi. 
Louted,  did  honour. 
Lust,  wishest. 
L  u  st  i  h  e  d ,  pleasure. 
Lust  less,  languid. 

Maintenance,  behaviour. 
Make,  versify. 
Maugre,  in  spite  of. 
May,  maid. 

May-buskets,  May-bushes. 
Mazer,  bo-wl. 
Medle,  mingle. 
Meint,  mingled. 
Melling,  meddli/ig. 
Men  of  the  lay,  laymen. 


\ 


?=*<. 


\rA 


Merit,  ?Ht?igled. 

Merciable,  merciful. 

Mickle,  7ntich. 

Miller's  round,  a  dance. 

Mirk,  very  obscure. 

Miscreance,  tmbelief. 

Misgone,  gone  astray. 

Missay,  say  evil. 

Mister  men,  kind  of  men. 

Mister  saying,  kind  of  speech. 

Mis  went,  gone  astray. 

Mizzle,  to  rain  a  little. 

Mochell,  much. 

Moe,  more. 

Most  what,  affairs. 

Most- what, /^r  the  most  part. 

Musical,  music. 

Narre,  nearer. 

N'as,  has  not. 

Newell,  novelty. 

Nighly,  nearly  so  much. 

Nill,  will  not. 

N'is,  is  not. 

N'ote,  know  not. 

Nought  seemeth,/^  unseemly. 

Nould,  would  not. 

Overcrawed,  overcrowed. 
Overgone,  surpassed. 
Overhale,  draw  over. 
Overture,  open  place. 

Paddocks,  toads. 
Pained,  exerted  himself. 
Paramours,  lovers. 
Paunce,  pajisy. 
Perdie,  in  truth,  truly. 


xi6 


Peregall,  equal. 
Perk,  pert. 
Pert,  open. 
Pieced,  imperfect. 
Pight,  put,  placed. 
Plainful,  lamentable. 
Prick,  fuark. 
Pricket,  buck. 
Prief,  proof 
Prime,  spring. 
Primrose,  chief  flower. 
Pumie,  pumice. 
Purchase,  obtain. 
Purpose,  conversation. 

Quaint,  strange. 
Quell,  abate. 
Queme,  please. 
Quick,  alive. 
Quit,  deliver. 

Rathe,  early. 
Rather,  born  early. 
Record,  repeat. 
Rede,  saying;  advise,  tell. 
Reliven,  live  again. 
Ribaudry,  ribaldry. 
"Riie,  frequent. 
Rifely,  abundantly. 
Rine,  rind. 

Romish  Tityrus,  Virgil. 
Ronts,  young  bullocks. 
Roundel,  roundelay. 
Routs,  companies. 
Roved,  shot. 

Sale,  wicker  net. 
Sam,  together. 


m^ 


Jt 


Sample,  example. 

Saye,  silk. 

Scope,  mark  aimed  at. 

Seely,  simple. 

Sheen,  bright. 

Shend,  disgrace. 

Shepheard,  Al'fl,  p.  56  .•  En- 

dymion,  /.  5  5  ;  Orpheus,  p.  84 , 

Paris,  p.  57. 
Shield, /tW'/</. 
Sib,  related. 
Sich,  such. 

Sicker,  siker,  sunly^  truly. 
Sike,  such. 
Site,  situation. 
Sithence,  sithens,  since,  since 

that  time. 
Siths,  times. 
Sits,  becomes. 
Sits  not,  is  not  becoming. 
Skill  in  making,  ///  meriting 

poetry. 
Slipper,  slippery,  uncertain. 
Smirk,  nice. 
Snebbe,  rri'ile. 
Somdele,   somewhat,   in   some 

degree. 
Some  quick,  something  alive. 
S  o  m  m  e  d ,  feathered. 
Soote,  siveetly. 
Sooth,  soothsaying. 
Sops-in-wine,  a  flower. 
Sovenance,  remembrance. 
So  well  thewed,  0/ such  sound 

morals. 
Sperr,  shut. 
Spill,  spoil,  ruin,  injure. 
Stank,  weary. 


State,  stoutly. 

Steven,  noise. 

S  t  o  u  n  d ,  effort ;  hour. 

S  t  o  u  n  d  s  ,/><//// J  ;  occasions. 

Stour,  assault. 

Stoure,  occasion. 

Stoures,  attacks. 

Stowre,  affliction,  violence. 

Strain,  imbody  in  strains. 

Strait,  strict. 

St  row,  display. 

Stud,  trunk. 

Sullen,  sad. 

Surquedry,  pride. 

Swink,  toil. 

Tabrere,  laborer. 

Teen,  sorrow. 

That,  that  which. 

Thereto,  also. 

Thick,  thicket. 

Thilk,  this,  these,  this  same,  that 

same. 
Tickle,  uncertain. 
Tinct,  coloured. 
Tityrus,  Chaucer. 
Tod,  thick  bush. 
To-force,  perforce. 
Tooting,  looking  about. 
Totty,  wavering. 
Trace,  go. 
Trains,  snares. 
Trode,  troad,  tread,  path. 
Truss,  bundle. 
Tway,  tzco. 

Uncouth,  unkncnvn. 


\ 


Underfong,  tamper  with,  un- 
dertake. 
Undersay,  say  m  contradiction. 
Uneath,  scarcely. 
Unkempt,  unpolished. 
Unkent,  unknoivn. 
Unlustiness,  feebletiess. 
Unnethes,  scarcely. 
Unsoot,  unsweet. 
U prist,  uprisen. 
Utter,  put  forth. 

Venteth,  snuffeth. 
Vetchy,  of  pease  straic. 
Virelays,  songs. 

War,  worse. 

Warre,  ware. 

Weanel  ^vast,  weaned  young- 
ling. 

Weed,  dress. 

Weet,  know. 

Weighed,  esteemed. 

Weld,  toield,  bear. 

Welked,  decreased,  shortened. 

Well  apaid,  in  good  condition. 

Well  away,  alas  I 

Wend,  go. 

What,  ?natter,  thing. 

What  is  he  for  a  lad  ?  what 
sort  of  lad  is  he  ? 


Whilome,  formerly. 

Widder,  wider. 

Wight,  active. 

Wightly,  quickly. 

Wimble,  ?iimble. 

Wisards,  learned  men. 

Wist,  knew. 

Witen,  blame. 

Wonned,  dwelt. 

Wood,  7nad,  wild. 

Worthy  wite,  deserved  blame. 

Wot,  wote,  know.  ^ 

Wot  ne,  know  not. 

Woundless,  unwounded. 

Wrack,  violence. 

Wroken,  avejiged. 


Yblent,  blinded. 
Yconned,  conned. 
Yede,  go,  went. 
Yeven,  given. 
Yfere,  together. 
Ygo,  ygoe,  gone. 
Yode,  wetit. 
Yond,  yonder. 
Ypent,  petit,  confined. 
Yshend,  disparage. 
Ytake,  take?i,  overcome. 
Ytost,  be  harassed. 
Ywis,  truly. 


1 18 


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